


spit out the sun

by plutonicfriend



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, fun times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-02 02:49:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16778122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonicfriend/pseuds/plutonicfriend
Summary: Seungcheol snorts at him. “One, I’ve never tried to get into Wonwoo’s pants. Two, you’re still a rookie kid, don’t go boasting about something you’ve only been doing for a few months—” Mingyu opens his mouth to protest, “and three, you’re a real work in progress, Gyu.”-Where Mingyu, vampire hunter — err, sort of — ends up with a vampire roommate.





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ!  
> \- somewhat graphic depictions of blood (i mean, vampires...)  
> \- mentions of death  
> 

When Mingyu finally accepts Seungcheol's roommate offer, he sets off a series of catastrophes. It takes him no less than three seconds to ruin everything for everyone, a new record he’ll get a plaque for in his dedication, for all his other upcoming misfortunes to look up to.

The first second he spends staring, the following two he uses by slamming the door shut and whipping around to face Seungcheol with pure panic in his eyes. 

“You didn't tell me he was a—"

“Cute boy?” Seungcheol suggests.

“A _blood sucking vampire.”_

Seungcheol waves his hand quickly, hissing, “You dumbass, he can hear you!” 

Mingyu waves his arms in the air. Fucking really? Seungcheol’s worried about something that’s not his precious friend’s life? Aforementioned friend, him, being left specifically underneath his care and jurisdiction? Fine, fuck vampire hearing. He'll charade how pissed off he is about this. 

He smacks his hand in his palm, hissing back, “I literally lock these guys up for a living, are you insane? _Hyung?”_ he tacks on.

“Look, I'm sorry! But this is exactly why I didn't tell you,” Seungcheol smacks his palm back, “It won't be that bad, I promise.” 

Mingyu moans into his hands. For a genius, Seungcheol is sure stupid. “I'm going to die.” 

“He's...He's only half vampire, if that makes you feel better?” 

“I'm really being forced between homelessness and a slow, painful death.” 

“Wonwoo doesn't even drink live blood. He's all pro-donated, uh, lab-grown! GMOs! Practically a hippie by their standards, Gyu!” 

“You're not invited to my funeral.” 

Seungcheol sighs. He drops his duffel, which is actually Mingyu’s duffel, full of the only possessions he has left in this cruel world, carelessly on the on the hallway atop a weird stain in the carpet. It's true, Mingyu's life is all just downhill from here. The traitor claps his shoulder. 

“Wonwoo is my friend, I trust him as much as I do you. Please, _please_ get along. It's only for a few months. This will be a learning experience for the both of you.” 

“Oh, fuck off, hyung.” 

Seungcheol claps him again. Hard. “Open that door where Wonwoo has been patiently eavesdropping and. In. Tro. Duce. Your. Self.” 

It's because of age privileges that Mingyu doesn't turn around with his suitcase and roll off into the sunset. He literally just shit talked a haemoglobin licking creature of the night. The end _is_ near. His neighbour upstairs floods their flat and Mingyu’s own becomes collateral damage in the second rendition of The Great Flood, with half the ceiling collapsing in, missing him by heaven’s inch. Almost everything he owns is gone. His bank account has been wiped bleak.

It’s all coming up Mingyu!

Couch surfing at Seungcheol’s couldn’t go on forever. He tries to sound choked up about it, but Mingyu’s pretty sure he and his boyfriend were just putting up with him despite being, sadly, Mingyu’s only close friend since coming to the big city. He also so happens to be his fucking superior at work.

All their professional boundaries have been compromised the moment he’d had opened one too many a door without knocking first.

But at this new lowest of his lowest points, another night on the couch is a viable option.

But no, he turns back around, knocks on that door again, and forces a smile onto his face when it reopens, much, much slower this time. 

“ _Hi_ , I'm Mingyu.” 

Wonwoo's been ignoring him for sixteen hours and forty-two minutes. Granted, eight of those hours were because they were asleep, but that fact remains negligible because those walls were no barrier to the cold hostility radiating from his new roommate’s partially undead form. 

Again, granted, he could have made a better first impression.

What's the worst thing about it all, is that Mingyu is being forced to think, ruminate, _regret_ his actions. He'd really rather just turn on the white noise machine of his brain and sleep. 

Turns out what Seungcheol failed to mention is that Wonwoo’s apartment block is right beside a giant rip of black-water lake. The ghouly kind that's fucking phosphorescent in the dark like the world's biggest, most irritating nightlight. 

It's an unappealing sight to him: coal-deep waters washing up on black sedimentary sand. Mangrove-like trees stand upright with their thick, extended roots, malformed and coated in moonlight-reactive mosses and fungi. Then, away from the alienated biome, is the city. A human jungle of reflective glass, blue metal and luridly green foliage, carefully conformed around the island like shell encasing its seed.

There’s bubbles like that all over the world. Unnatural, forced meldings of their two worlds jutting out like scorched skin across the face of the planet. Public opinion still varies on the aesthetic of it all.

It’s no mystery why housing around this neighbourhood is cheap and the population predominantly Supernatural, Mingyu notes.

He’s grossly unaccustomed to the light. It is supposed to have ‘soothing’ effects for non-mortals like those essential oils aromatherapy crap, but right now it’s only giving him a headache. The room is blithering cold and bare.

Not for the first time, Mingyu closes his eyes and ignores the loneliness hiding in the corners.

“Good morning?” Mingyu’s already dressed, sitting stiffly on a bar stool and his elbows on the countertop table.

Wonwoo just looks at him for a heartbeat, before turning around to turn the kettle on.

Well, if that’s how it’s going to be.

+

For expositions sake, Mingyu is adamant that despite recent evidence, he is very in favour for Supernatural assimilation. He's just in a weird sore spot. And is on the Supernatural-Beings Regulatory Force. Vampire division. 

To him, and to most of the younger generations, the poorly named incident of “Hell's Gate Opening" is ancient history. To others, with lifespans a little bit longer, it’s a fresh bruise. After a few upgrades to the nomenclature, the Trans-Dimensional Reconciliation, as is now known – for now – happened around the time most human grandparents were still toddlers, wrapped in their wool blankets while their two realities collapsed unto another. 

No one's exactly sure _why_. The science is confusing, the politics hell.

No one’s exactly sure _whose_ reality they’re really in. To put affairs of the last seven or so decades in a blender, they’re all being forced to play nice and share; the earth — whichever one it is, if it even is just one — now their permanent Get Along Shirt, allegorically.

Okay, so maybe it’s not so ancient but Mingyu chose to sleep for most of middle school history. 

What he does know, is that historical cross-dimensional travelling was purely and tragically one-sided. Urban legends, folk tales, bad medieval drawings of murder, kidnapping, disembowelment from across the human world all criss-crossed into lines of evidence. Humans didn't take that too well. 

Mingyu's too young to remember most of anything. Maybe it makes him blind, maybe it makes him a dreamer, but there is no sway from the most concrete of truth: humans were always and are still a primary food source, re-established society or not. 

+

“It looks like you peeled the skin off of your eyes, Gyu.”

Mingyu shuts the communal fridge with unnecessary force.

“Good morning, to you too, hyung,” he says to a magnet of a smiling werewolf vacationing at the Bahamas.

It’s Hansol’s. His flighty composure has earned him a lot of frequent flyer points too.

Like other law enforcement jobs, every day carries its potential risks. As an SRF division, the stakes extend past petty theft and burglaries, so while the days tend to be slower and the academy just that much more gruelling, the risk is supposedly compensated with a weightier income. Mingyu’s also pretty sure the government’s a little desperate.

No one told him, however, that he’d also be at a high risk for aneurysms at the hands of his coworkers.

Seungcheol never dresses for the job and frankly, Mingyu hardly does either, but he’s not the one with senior officer privileges. Today, with his blue shirt crinkled, half-tucked in, and maybe just for style sake, his top buttons relaxed, he looks like he’d crawled straight out of a drain pipe.

It’s usually his genuine disapproval for strict dress codes, but this morning he wouldn’t even have noticed if he forgot to walk out the door with shoes on.

“How’s Wonwoo? Any warm welcomes?” 

Mingyu sighs, dramatic. He slides a coffee to Seungcheol — milk, cream, three sugars — and takes his own right across from him at the table.

“You’ve only got yourself to blame, man,” his friend takes an annoyingly loud sip, “and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He is death incarnate right now. He wants to pass out on the floor.

“Wonwoo’s really sweet. In his own way. Straight up a great guy.”

Seungcheol’s very human, but sometimes Mingyu thinks, as he watches him chug down his piping hot coffee, he’s got a spiritual connection to trolls or rock golems.

Mingyu pauses, cup poised right on the lip of his tongue as his brows furrow. He lowers his drink. “How do you even know him?”

Seungcheol sends him a look. There’s a hickey lazily hidden by his popped collar and it makes Mingyu grimace into his drink with unwanted memories.

“I go outside?” his friend snorts.

“I mean, you know,” Mingyu fumbles around with his hands the air, “most of them blow you right off when they learn what your job is.”

He would know. He’s been rejected by enough supernaturally hot beings in bars, in clubs, in his own damn apartment the moment he admits that he’s the asshole cop that probably arrested your cousin for trying to drink someone’s blood, or for summoning a demon in their basement.

Seungcheol snorts at him. “One, I’ve never tried to get into Wonwoo’s pants. Two, you’re still a rookie kid, don’t go boasting about something you’ve only been doing for a few months—” Mingyu opens his mouth to protest, “and _three,_ you’re a real work in progress, Gyu.”

Sending a last knowing look that he can’t decipher, Seungcheol gets up and sets his cup in the sink, walking out of the communal kitchen with a dismissive wave, back to his desk. Typical. Of all the mentors, Mingyu gets the most impractical, obscure coach.

He sighs, staring dead-eyed into the whirling brown liquid in his hands.

 _A work in progress_.

If he can’t be a great stranger, he’ll try to be a good roommate at least. On his way back to Wonwoo’s place he scans the streets, hoping to catch a fluorescent sign or sticker indicating any blood-friendly takeaway options. He himself likes an ox-blood tofu soup, but he’s so caught up about not getting Wonwoo to hate him even more, he ends up standing on the corner of a sidewalk having a mild freakout.

It’s getting late. The sky overhead is turning purple and the street lamps down the street are flickering on, ghost-like apparitions appearing in his peripheral. Cars flash and everyone on the street is passing by, blind and deaf to the noise in his head, pulsing over _prawn dumplings,_ and _what if he’s allergic to peanuts,_ and _what’s the opposite of iron deficiency?_

He’s being torn in three directions.

One, he could text Wonwoo. Be casual. Be sly. All, _hey dinners on me haha what do u want, smiley face, smiley face_. He’d rather die but.

Two, he could text Seungcheol. Be discreet. Be nonchalant. _hey what does wonwoo like to eat pls dont ask why, smiley face, smiley face._ He’s not an idiot.

Three, he wings it. What’s the worst that could happen? Wonwoo already hates his guts, and more than likely they’ll be avoiding each other for four months straight until Mingyu quietly disappears, spare key left on the kitchen counter like a homewrecked husband.

He looks up. Heavy clouds are rolling over the face of tonight’s full moon.

Mingyu squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s an idiot.

Wonwoo’s half vampire, half _human_. He can eat a goddamn pizza.

“Hey...”

Mingyu closes the door behind him with a soft click, toeing off his shoes. The pizza in his hand is still piping hot and the oil and heat is leeching almost unbearably into his skin. Wonwoo’s on his couch, surprisingly not locked up in his room, but clearly unexpecting of Mingyu by the way he whips around to glare at him. He was sitting completely in the dark, like a goddamn gargoyle and Mingyu had almost dropped his pizza the when he flicked the lights on.

“I brought food?”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond. It unnerves Mingyu to the point where he feels needles prickle down his neck.

“You like Pepperoni?” Het sets it down on the kitchen counter. Still no answer.

Wonwoo just levels him down with a stare. His eyes, dark brown and tinged with a redness, are impossible to read, muted, impregnable. Like an owl perched high in a tree, observant. Mingyu feels a lot like a mouse caught alone in an open field.

“Sorry,” he blurts, “I don’t know if you even like pizza, or pepperoni pizza really, I just assumed. I do that. I don’t think a lot,” he clears his throat, face hot, “I’m sorry for assuming.”

He does get a reaction this time, though it’s not the overwhelmingly positive kind he hoped for. Wonwoo’s eyebrow twitches, now slightly furrowed.

Then, to his surprise — he’s picking up a pattern here — Wonwoo gets up and walks over to him. He’s shorter than him, as per the norm, but not by that much with their eyes almost level. His face is cold, but surprisingly pretty.

Wonwoo opens up the pizza box without even a spare look at him and takes a slice, one hand hovering beneath to catch the cheese strings, a mumbled thanks on his lips, before walking away to his room like a ghost of his imagination.

Mingyu blinks.

Half his coffee spills out when he slams it on the table.

“Geez. Slow down, cowboy,” Jihoon, a good guy, part elf, hard worker, most closed cases in the district record, pats him on the shoulder. It’s not something he’d be able to do if Mingyu was standing. “Save your strength for the outlaws.”

Mingyu sighs, reaching for the tissue box, “Sorry, _sheriff_. Just, a lot of things on my mind.”

There’s a sympathetic noise. “Heard about your apartment and shit. Tough.”

Mingyu replies with a dry laugh, “Yeah, tough. Temp roommate is too. I can’t crack him.”

Jihoon slides into the seat across from him with his sandwich (rye, with honeyed ham and cheddar judging by the smell). Their lunch breaks usually coincide, so maybe Mingyu can consider him an almost friend. “I’ve got time for a solid vent. Bullpen gossip’s been stale lately. Did you know Hansol’s ex had a third nipple?”

Snorting, Mingyu rolls his eyes. “Bet he would’ve pretended to love it as much as the other two.”

“That’s our Hansol,” Jihoon shakes his head and takes a bite out of his sandwich, “But I mean it, gunslinger. Spill.”

Suddenly self conscious, Mingyu shrugs. Dramatic, yes, he does tend to blow things out of proportion sometimes, but he doesn’t actually have anything against anyone in his series of unmediated disasters. Definitely not Wonwoo. But he’s definitely still very antsy about being murdered in his sleep.

“I kind of fucked up with my roommate and now we both aren’t exactly on best terms.”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow, “Oh? Wonwoo, right? You always struck me as the kind of guy to pretend to be an ass in front of a cute boy.”

“What, no!” Mingyu's face has the gall to blush against his orders, “I mean, yeah, about the assing bit, but not the other...bit.”

Jihoon snorts but waves his hand in a circle to urge him on to continue.

So he recounts their disastrous first encounter, the pizza ordeal, the ignoring and glaring, in that order. This morning, a stone landed in Mingyu’s gut the moment he walked out of the spare bedroom, immediately bumping into a sleepy, startled Wonwoo. Looks are intrinsically deceiving, Mingyu would know, and he _shudders_ whenever he sees Wonwoo and his soft, fluffy hair and his soft, droopy clothes and his deep voice all muffled in deception. He’s capable of tearing his arteries right out of his skin.

Sure enough, over the tensest breakfast he’s had in a long time, he had accidentally knocks Wonwoo’s tea right into his lap. Turning an ugly red, Wonwoo had scowled over Mingyu’s stumbled apology, mouth tight in a grimace and looking ready to kill. Without a word, he'd stalked off. Or, as best he could with hot water all over his crotch.

It couldn’t be any clearer. He’s stuck in an extended nightmare. The definitely passive aggressive remarks. The bluntness of Wonwoo’s voice that can only hide suppressed, underlying rage. And Wonwoo’s _cat_.

“It’s a _beast_ ,” Mingyu bites the rim of his mug, mumbling, “The thing hisses at me whenever it sees me. Fur all over my clothes. It _glares_ at me.”

Jihoon makes an amused, trilling noise in the back of his throat. Smiling.

“Adorable.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what Wonwoo thinks so too. Raising hellspawn.”

Jihoon sends him a look, unimpressed and mood iced over.

“Sorry,” Mingyu bites his lip, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Kid,” Jihoon still insists on calling him that despite them being barely two years apart, “I know it’s a change of environment and you’ve had an…,” he juggles his hands in the air, rolling words around on his tongue, “unconventional upbringing, but you need to watch how you act and speak in these places. You’re a part of something bigger now than a small hometown.”

The only thing Mingyu can do is nod. Guilt colours his cheeks, a hot prickling running down his neck as he rubs his nose, embarrassed.

A small sigh leaves Jihoon’s lips, his expression softening. He finishes his lunch in two large bites and reaches over to pat Mingyu’s shoulder again, then musses his hair.

“No need to look like a kicked dog, Gyu. You’re not a bad person. These things just take time.”

“I know,” he rubs his face, the lack of sleep catching up on him in that moment, “Thanks, hyung.”

“It’s only been a few days. I’m sure the cat’ll warm up to you.”

It doesn’t. Neither Wonwoo nor the cat warm up to Mingyu any time soon. By now it’s been an entire week of radio silence and poorly masked irritation that’s defined their living arrangements, and the only thing keeping Mingyu partially sane is that he knows Wonwoo isn’t exactly content either.

What can he say? Misery does love company.

And it has been a miserable week above it all, too.

Friday evening comes in a jolted blur that has Mingyu exhausted, crawling through the door and fumbling with his shoes and jacket and he’s _hurt_. Seungcheol always says he’s a big baby, but even he gave a sympathetic squeeze on the arm after their unsuccessful capture.

The past three months there’d been reports of murders, all victims suffering from mass blood loss, two clean holes punctured in their necks all in the same neighbourhood, similar locations, similar scenes. A crystal clear case. A vampire refusing to abide with the laws, live-hunting their blood instead of the sanctioned, non-lethal methods.

Mingyu can’t say it’s an uncommon crime. The laws were instituted nearly eight decades ago. The average lifespan of a vampire is ten times that. There is little motivation for many of them to break from routine.

They’d been so close this time to catching the guy. _Mingyu_ had been so close to catching the guy. He’d had him, right in his hands, pinned down on the floor of his hideaway apartment, backup on their way, and right about to cuff him when he’d been spooked.

Story made short, their criminal had his own backup and Mingyu has a headache the size of a planet, exhaustion clinging onto his shoulders, and an arm full of stitches that hurts like a bitch.

He lowers himself down carefully onto the couch, his wrapped arm cradled to his chest and hyper aware of the soreness in his back and legs. The lights are off. Only the faint glow of the skyline and the Black Lake illuminate this lonely hole in a weak blue cast that has Mingyu wishing, aching that everything so far has just been a bad dream.

He won't be able to do any field work for weeks.

There's a shuffling noise. Mingyu startles when a sudden weight dips the cushion beside him. Wonwoo's cat, whatever its name is, making its presence known. Probably curious to the antiseptic smell.

“Shoo, Cat.” Mingyu leans away, eyes narrowing and flustering his good hand about.

No way is he losing more blood.

“She won't hurt you.”

He jumps, heart slamming against his ribcage. Wonwoo's practically a shadow in the hallway, leaning on the frame and arms crossed with one of his long legs hooked around an ankle. His eyes give off a faint glow, not dissimilar to his pet beside him.

A creature of the night, it's a near unmistakeable reminder to Mingyu on today of all days and it unsettles him down to his spine. He’s vulnerable, unarmed, and might collapse actually without further spurring. But then, with the surprise of a whisper, it’s the scent of fabric softener and tangerines and black tea lingering faintly around the man’s demonic posture that has Mingyu’s mind stirring back into function. He always seems to forget Wonwoo’s human too.

“She won’t scratch you,” Wonwoo repeats.

“My scratches say otherwise.”

Wonwoo ignores him. Instead, at least from what he can tell by squinting at him through the darkness, his face furrows, gaze trickling around his battered state.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

Mingyu flushes. What is he? Twelve?

“I got spooked by two vampires. Surprise attack,” he amends.

For some reason, Wonwoo's frown deepens. “How badly does it hurt?”

Mingyu, for whatever reason, decides to play along.

“Just stinging for now.”

“What are they?”

“What is what?”

Wonwoo won’t stop frowning. He sticks a finger in the air and whirls it around, “I mean what kind of wounds are they?”

He doesn't think he's ever heard Wonwoo speak more than five words at a time. His voice is ocean deep.

“Slice wounds. Some bitten. They were aiming for my neck,” and then, with the anxious mass in his gut frothing over, “Why are you even asking this?”

“What, am I not allowed?”

Cat leaves Mingyu's side then, jumping down and slinking over to her owner, movements smooth as water. She twists and slides between Wonwoo's ankles and Mingyu has half a mind she'll reveal herself to be a snake, coiling into a formless shadow.

“I just don't think it's really your concern.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, “Why is there so much distrust with you?”

“I don't have great experiences with vampires usually.”

Wonwoo pushes off from the wall, shoulders tensing.

“Maybe it's not _us_ that are giving you such a hard time, but your own insufferable stubbornness.”

Mingyu rises to meet his glowering eyes from across the room, “You do realise I’m just doing my job? I'm trying to protect people from these murderers on the loose, who frankly have little care for other species.”

“They’re _criminals_ , Kim. You think every vampire out there is thrillseeking with you SRFs? Most of us are finding it hard enough to deal with every scared little human that thinks we want to kill their babies.”

Mingyu’s not sure when, not sure how, but he’s only a step away from a rigid Wonwoo, towering over him with pointed words on the edge of his tongue, end to end with his stony defiance. Lips tight in a sullen anger, he traces the tensed clench of the vampire’s jaw.

“You say that as if Supernaturals don't have a history of killing babies.”

“I don't understand you at all,” Wonwoo's eyes turn red, “Who are you going to protect like this? Do you really hate us that much? You can't afford to be this stupid, Kim.”

Mingyu's teeth ache. Wonwoo doesn't get it. How could he think things were that pleasant, that there was no inherent disposition of _blood eaters_ to prey on the innocent? Naïve, it’s just naïve. Mingyu can't help but envy, _pity_ , the upbringing he must have had.

Tonight was not the night for this. He’s exhausted and hurt and there’s nothing to gain. He backs off, taking a step away and turning his head to glare at the ground, refusing to look at the hesitance curtaining over Wonwoo’s face.

“I don't,” he exhales through his nose, almost all the fight in him gone, “I don't hate you guys.”

A steely laugh leaves Wonwoo’s lips like the sound of scissor blades cutting open, “Could've fooled me.” 

“Maybe,” Mingyu smiles ruefully, “But that would make me even more pathetic.”

Wonwoo’s forehead furrows, “What?”

Mingyu exhales through his nose. The pressure in his head is beginning to gnaw thin his skull and with all the drama and the blood loss that's happened today, he'd rather not play twenty questions about his life. If a hole could just swallow him in, he'd appreciate it.

“I'm going to bed.”

He brushes past Wonwoo with little resistance.

“Kim Mingyu, as your superior I demand that you answer my damn question.”

“As my superior, I'd think you know that discussion of personal events are completely inappropriate in this situation.”

“Boohoo, clearly no one's gonna be eavesdropping.”

Their victim proves their degree of deadness by not budging when Seungcheol throws an open palm in its direction. A massive pool of still wet blood spreads out from the white corpse, the ceiling lights and Mingyu's reflection caught on its red, glossy surface. A major artery in the thigh torn out, the victim would've bled out in less than two minutes. Allegedly a vampire attack, according to the traumatised witnesses huddled outside in their blankets. Mingyu for one knows, the place reeks of it. And of blood. And salami.

It's a local deli he's going to miss.

There's a sudden camera flash. Mingyu scowls.

He nods his head to the right, pointed brow raised at his superior, “Junhui hyung is right there.”

“No I'm not.”

Mingyu gives up. Still REM-deficient, he rubs his face with a sigh. This morning he’d left extra early, the sun had only begun its slow creep across the apartment when he decided he'd really rather not stick around to watch his roommate's undead crawl.

In actuality, he feels really bad.

He'd come off as the biggest douchebag, again, to a guy who was only keeping him around because of mutual friend obligations, arguing a point obviously doomed to fall to defiance.

Until it distorted into a mess of voices and the flashes of Wonwoo's eyes, red to brown to red, anger lost in his teeth, Mingyu spent what felt like the entire night replaying the fight. What was said. What he could have said. What he should have said.

Maybe. Maybe Mingyu knows he’s already idiot.

Shame is something he despised to deal with the most.

“Gyu, I know you've had it rough but you've got to at least talk a little with Wonwoo. Last night he just—” Seungcheol shrugs, eyes widened with disbelief, “he texted me worried about you.”

Mingyu's mouth parts.

“What?”

Seungcheol makes an _idunno_ sound and runs a hand through his already terribly dishevelled hair, “Is the force stressing you out? Do you need someone to talk to? In fact, how are you even here, you're meant to desk-grounded!”

Mingyu quickly backpedals the conversation.

“Why is _Wonwoo_ concerned about me?”

Seungcheol looks at him, both wildly bewildered but yet also as if Mingyu was a dumbass. “Because he's a nice guy? Unlike someone I know, he’s got priorities.”

“We've been ignoring each other all week.”

“He's staying out of your way, staying at work and giving you all this space because he really thinks you're, I don't know, disgusted by vampires,” Seungcheol sighs, shoulders buckling as if a sudden weight fell onto him, “Mingyu, listen, Wonwoo’s a silent guy and I know he's got a face like hell frozen over, but he doesn't hold grudges. Just try to make up with him.”

This whole situation, the bad luck and the fuck ups, it makes Mingyu feel like he's walked a stubborn mile into cement. He’s tired.

It’s temporary. It’s a short-term investment.

“Okay,” he breathes, “I'll do that. For real.” 

Keys clatter when Wonwoo drops them on the counter. Mingyu swallows. This time it’s Wonwoo who’d come home later and in those spare hours, Mingyu had been broiling over ways to smoothen the ridges, to level the playing field, to show that hey, he’s really not that bad, promise.

Turns out, Mingyu’s truly a simple guy because this whole tactic ended up in him ordering more take out. It’s just sitting on the counter now, untouched and getting cold.

Wonwoo does little more than just stare at him for a few moments. It makes Mingyu’s heart pick up in a nervous pitter-patter.

“Hey,” he starts.

Wonwoo blinks, “Uh. Hey.” He sets down his bag on the floor and sends a curious look at the small plastic bag mountain in his kitchen.

“Dinner’s on me. Again.”

Christ, Mingyu can physically feel his internal organs shrivelling up. He rubs his nose. Why is he so bad at this? Why is he so bad with _Wonwoo_? The guy is just hovering there in his own doorway, expression blank except for the tick of restraint holding him back from _doing something_ that’ll elicit some reaction Mingyu can actually deal with.

The lights above cast Wonwoo in a subdued, blurry glow but his eyes remain sharp, always tinted their red; unnatural, almost alien, and it’s a discomforting reminder. Of all the vampires Mingyu’s had to deal with in his short experience, he’s never come across one as hard to read as Wonwoo. And he’s not even full creature.

Then again, he’s mostly interacted with very angry, very bloodlusting ones.

Here, Wonwoo’s in his rumpled work clothes, glasses tilted askew, flushed slightly from the wind outside. Mingyu has seen his eyes when fully red, seen glimpses of his pointed teeth, his bared snarl, his sleepy face, his quiet concern, petting his stupid cat and it—

It shouldn’t be messing with him. But it still is.

He quickly stands, “I’m gonna go to bed. I’m really sorry about last night. I was being a dick. Goodnight.”

“Wait.”

Mingyu stops as if on command. His heart is so nervous he almost wonders if Wonwoo has him enraptured.

Wonwoo clears his throat, gaze slipping on and off of him like oil, “I wouldn’t mind company. It’s usually just me and my cat most nights.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says dumbly. He feels like he just swallowed a cloud, “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

The two of them shuffle around awkwardly, around each other, then around the furniture, then around their food. Mingyu honestly doesn't have an appetite because his heart is beginning to thrum like a livewire and he’s trying so hard not to just ogle at Wonwoo like a child in a zoo.

Who, by what he's picking up from the corner of his eye, is just picking at his dumplings. Shit, maybe he doesn't like dumplings. Who doesn't like dumplings?

It shocks him to a degree that this is their first civil interaction this entire week. 

He's maybe two seconds away from instigating a conversation about the merits and cons of dumplings when Cat suddenly slinks into the room. At the sight, Wonwoo smiles instantly. A warm quirk to his lips that reminds Mingyu of a candle, with its smoky warmth and dim light.

Wonwoo coos, and Cat comes comes over, her nose perking up to investigate the smell of food.

To his own small surprise, Mingyu realises that maybe Cat is kind of cute. She sort of looked like a small pumpkin. Pink nose and pink paws and grass green eyes.

“Is it okay if I feed her?”

Wonwoo startles. He wonders if he'd forgotten he was here.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Wonwoo clears his throat, “Yes.”

A tiny piece of meat perched on a finger, a warm feeling settles on Mingyu's chest when Cat gratefully accepts his treat, rough tongue scraping his fingertip that makes a hint of laughter pass through his lips.

When he looks up, his heart nearly flops out of his chest at the intense look Wonwoo is pinning him down with.

“What?” his hackles immediately rise.

Wonwoo blinks out of his stupor.

“Nothing.”

Then, as if nothing had happened, he turns back to his carton.

After that, they don't really talk. It's awkward, a little painfully comic and it’s probably the exact experience of being stuck in a dryer with the way Mingyu’s nerves are being thrown up and down and around in circles. But it's not so bad.

They take turns passing morsels to Cat in some silent, fragile agreement. The rumble of her purr lulls their conflict into white, background noise, and Mingyu smiles for what feels like the first time in a very, very long time.

“Well, you look peachy. Sleep well finally?”

An impish smile peers down at Mingyu from above his desk, a Jihoon shaped shadow falling over his paperwork. His desk-groundedness has been aggressively enforced this time, but it does little to deter his fantastic, sun-shining, trophy-winning mood.

“Better than that,” Mingyu smugly clicks his pen.

“Got laid?”

“What, no!” God, why does he get so flustered? “Why did you even _assume_ that?”

Jihoon shrugs, eyes rolling a little, “Could just take it as a compliment.”

“Nothing like that, I just think I've made up with Wonwoo. Sort of. Baby steps.”

For a few blinks, Jihoon just looks at him, eyes blank of anything Mingyu can read until the coolness suddenly melts. Jihoon, in a rare appearance, is somewhat smiling at him. Just a short but natural curve of his mouth.

“Good on you, kid.”

Mingyu can feel the wind flutter in his heart.

“Oh, by the way, my friend's having a housewarming party and we're going to pretend I'm inviting you instead of commanding you to.”

The wind immediately plummets.

“Is any superior here actually aware of power abuse?”

Jihoon hums, tapping his chin unnecessarily, “No, dunno. See you Friday. 7pm. Casual wear, anything wear, because Soonyoung's standards are on the ground we walk on.”

Not wanting to outright groan in Jihoon’s face — though the guy definitely knows that's exactly what he wants to do, judging by that same smirk — Mingyu just grunts in acknowledgment, letting him pat his back before walking off.

Mingyu doesn't hate parties. He's great, fantastic, at parties. Just, not in the city. Not anywhere unfamiliar, with the unfamiliar.

Since revealing his, let's say, personal circumstances to Jihoon, which, he still argues, was borderline bullied out of him, the guy had taken it as his duty to acclimate him to the capital. Mingyu never has the heart, nor the bravery, to turn him down.

Maybe he wishes he was brave enough to enjoy them instead. Some part of him before he arrived, hoped he would bloom into a different person somewhere new and far, far away.

His old hometown wasn't small, but it was small enough to have a community of Supernaturals that remained rather inconspicuous in human spaces. The neighbourhood Mingyu lived for most of his adolescence grew as a protective shell for his limited world.

Names and faces hardly shifted. Landmarks sat permanent. Orange trees that swelled with the ripe scent of citrus, itchy cattails and knee-high grass by the abandoned lot. His blue bicycle, with its hint of rust and silver scratches, banging on his grandfather's white fence. Butter wafting from the baker, strawberry milk from the stores, and blood from the isolated Bank on the outskirts. The world turned to schedule. 

But out here, so simultaneously expansive and suffocating, Mingyu was any other brown leaf blown into the gutter.

Cat, to his great shock, greets Mingyu at the door. Meowing and pawing at his pant leg, circling around his ankles, she follows him expectantly with her small head trained up at him. Insistent.

 _How pushy_ , Mingyu snorts. He bends down to scratch the space between her ears and she trills.

But she doesn't stop following him. Through the sliver of space as Mingyu closes his bedroom door, Cat darts through like a silver fish, heading to his bed with a pounce.

“Of course fattening you up is the key to your happiness,” Mingyu muses.

He changes into comfortable clothes, careful of his bandaged arm and maneuvering it slowly so the soreness of the taut scarring wouldn't be aggravated.

Even though it's not his own bed, his own now a wet mattress and broken frame, he's desperate to just tunnel into this cold, stiff bed and sleep through the rest of the evening. Mingyu can admit sometimes he's grossly sentimental, and the imagery of having to be wrapped in this thin, unfamiliar comforter in this empty room, it drags his chest open to the night air.

It's been months, he should at least be accustomed to everything by now, should have friends, should have some grey semblance of a new home. He needs some excuse to avoid Jihoon's party.

God, he sounds like a drip.

Cat meows. Insistent again.

“What?” Mingyu scoffs, turning to face her with an unimpressed expression he's not even sure she can understand.

To his surprise, which is becoming a trend under this roof, Cat sits up so that her front paws no longer rest on the bed and her body resembles a long tube. Perched sort of like a meerkat.

“She wants to be picked up.”

“ _Jesuschrist_.”

Wonwoo’s freak ability to either move around like a ghost or maybe fucking teleport is going to be the rue of Mingyu's blood pressure levels. It's as if the guy has a sixth sense when it comes to his cat, which, under further scrutiny, does sound plausible.

From the looks of his rumpled shirt and wind ruffled hair, Wonwoo had either just gotten home from a long day or had decided to parkour his way up his high rise apartment home. Despite the hardness of his tired eyes, Mingyu swallows down the urge to assume his irritability. It's just his default facial setting, he tells himself.

Wonwoo pushes himself off from the door frame but doesn't step any closer. It reminds Mingyu of those old school rules he's been told of, of the real ancient cricks in the vampire world. Where stepping into an abode uninvited would be met with immediate death.

But this isn’t Mingyu’s home. 

“She likes to be coddled. She's a shoulder cat,” Wonwoo tells him.

“A what?”

“Shoulder cat,” he rolls his eyes as if those words made perfect sense, “Just pick her up.”

Hesitant, he was known as ButterfingGyus in school for a reason, he does. Cat is small and Mingyu’s got admittedly, _proportionately_ large hands and it freaks him out a little at being able to feel Cat's breathing and her ribcage and all that vital stuff right against his palm.

As soon as she's in the air, Cat's front paws extend and she's scrabbling towards Mingyu's shoulder. Panicking, Mingyu nearly drops her and he's thanked by claws sinking right through his shirt and _fucking—_

“ _Ow_.”

Wonwoo snickers. He definitely was anticipating this.

Mingyu has half a mind to flip him off and Wonwoo’s lucky that he’s wearing some cheap shirt, is occupied with a life form house-sitting on his shoulders and has his other arm immobile because Mingyu went through police academy training _goddamn it_.

“Haha, real funny,” he sniffs, “how long do I keep her up here?” He stiffly places his free hand on her backside, somewhat afraid of her losing balance and hurting herself. Since he was a kid and beginning to become hyperaware of his large, uncoordinated gangliness, he’s become rather timid around small, soft things that would be fatally wounded if he sat on them.

“However long she wants. She’ll be comfortable on a rock.”

Wonwoo shrugs with one shoulder. It’s a movement that shouldn’t pierce his attention, but he can feel a little swell in his chest. Wonwoo’s a little bit of everything, he realises. A shy, bashfulness to him; teasing, kind of stiff, but sure of himself.

Maybe Mingyu lets out his first genuine smile at Wonwoo. “You’re the expert,” he says lightheartedly.

“If you do want her off, just lean forward a bit and she’ll get the message.”

Wonwoo moves, his shoulders turning a slight angle to indicate he’d be getting out of Mingyu’s hair now, and it strikes a memory through his thick skull. Seungcheol told him that Wonwoo had been ghosting around his own home to give Mingyu space, listening through his own walls for clear coasts to emerge and it drives a guilty stake through his chest. Maybe that’s why Cat is so pushy.

He purses his lips. “Do you…” he clears his throat, Wonwoo’s sudden attention on him making him feel like his foot had fallen short of a step, “want to order dinner?”

He winces immediately.

At this rate he’s going to eat himself and Wonwoo into a cholesterol driven death. God, he hopes Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s actually this much of proverbial, walking poster in a doctor’s office; Here Are The Risks of High Fat Content, Dietary Pie Charts and You’ll Be Dead At 40. In fact, are vampire metabolisms any different at all? Do they need dietary fibre? He begins to stroke Cat for comfort, pinned down by Wonwoo’s defineless staring. Real screwdrivers could dig through his skin and he wouldn’t notice the difference.

Wonwoo shrugs with a single shoulder again. It’s such a jarring movement this time though that Wonwoo’s glasses skew a little from the force and Mingyu has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from bursting like a shaken soda can.

Wonwoo fixes his glasses, “You can pick,” he mumbles out, hurrying away without waiting for an answer.

Cat makes a disgruntled noise, annoyed when Mingyu’s head slumps against her side, groaning.

+

He’s in a kitchen. A small, rustic one with blue gingham curtains, dried sprigs of herbs tied to the sill, and walls permanently infused with the scent of burning firewood and violet draughts, a smell they all crinkle their nose to but tolerate.

He’s small here, he’d been told he was tiny as a baby, a small, weak thing that they were hesitant over, before all the gangliness and height overtook him in a rush. At this place, his eyes don’t even reach the countertop and when he brushes his fingertips over the ledge, all he gets is flour and sugar dusted into his hair, his face and he whines.

Someone laughs, her voice sharp but still sweet, and a towel reaches down to wipe his cheeks red.

“Do you think I’ll get to go into the forest tonight?” He’s hoping he can. He’s been asking, wishing, pleading for a glimpse of the woods for a whole month.

She hums, turning back to her work surface. She’s mashing up beetroots for a jam because she’s the stiff, vegetable-loving, candy-hating person Mingyu has learnt not to question. There’s stains of red all over her hands and sleeves and the sunlight that pours in from the window obscures her face from him so that he won’t be able to read her.

“We’ll have to wait and see. He’s just concerned about your safety,” she answers.

Mingyu is petulant at this age and he frowns deeply, as upset as his naivety will let him be. But he doesn’t dare push it further.

His eyes open.

The kitchen disappears. The firewood, the sugar, the sunlight, gone. He’s back in his empty room. Wonwoo’s apartment. Mingyu squints into his pillow, dazed and confused before the sleep could evacuate his system, and he sighs, rolling over to his back.

It’s daybreak, half-dark, half-light. The blue glow outside begins to recede.

+

It’s typical for Mingyu to forget the finer details revolving around his own personal life. With detective work, he’s a little proud — _boastful_ , Seungcheol rolls his eyes over the rim of his coffee. _Brat_ , Jihoon corrects with a mouth full of pesto mayo sandwich — to say he’s skilful for a rookie. A hound with a nose to the ground, Mingyu can’t find a better ecstacy than cutting a neat ribbon over a finished crime, painted, varnished and sold to that big department of justice.

In the macrocosm, it’s Mingyu staying late in the office when there’s a case with arrows pointing to nowhere at all, or a scene constructed like a drip painting. Coffee rings sticky on his tabletop, blue light filter off and his phone set to silent, Seungcheol’s undeniably mothering texts popping up without notice.

On the flipside, it’s Mingyu being two granola bars away from handing in his _I am recognisably a functioning adult_ membership card as he forgets his keys behind the fruit bowl, forgoes celebrating his own birthday, forgets everyone else's, and then conveniently setting every friendly invite on the wrong date on his calendar.

He laments not having the foresight to avoid mentioning this to Jihoon, who probably out of politeness, chose to spam text Mingyu over personally showing up at Wonwoo’s door.

Mingyu is in the middle of folding his laundry when his phone begins its vibrating tirade, which startles a sleeping Cat off his bed. A little disappointed to see his now semi-companion stalk off, he fishes through his sheets to grab the still buzzing device.

> > Do not forget
> 
> > tonight
> 
> > 7pm
> 
> > Ive sent u the maps link
> 
> > it’s TONIGHT
> 
> > in 6 hours
> 
> > dont even try with ur lame broken calendar sync excuse
> 
> > i know your tricks
> 
> > or the broken down bus excuse
> 
> > you don’t even own a bus pass
> 
> > or the bee sting excuse
> 
> > i’ve never seen you carry an epipen in my life
> 
> > u will come even if i have to make u crawl through the door
> 
> > dont chicken out gyu
> 
> > also on your way could you pick up some hummus, soonyoung’s got shits for brains and he bought tzatziki dip instead the fucking satanist

Mingyu sighs.

He totally forgot about that.

“Soonyoung?” Wonwoo is now on fairly regular speaking terms with him. Talking without being spoken to and occasional humour being a subset of this category. “You’re going to his housewarming?”

Mingyu turns his head up from where he’d been glaring at his syncing calendar on his phone screen, to Wonwoo, leaning over the back of the couch and snooping. Jihoon, ever the obsessive nut, had even sent him an email calendar invite tagged with the most passive aggressive _cya - Sent from my iPhone_ known to mankind.

“You know him?” he asks dumbly.

Wonwoo shrugs. This is the first weekend they’ve spent together where none of them were hiding like they both had the plague. Frankly, Mingyu’s having a teensie bit of trouble adjusting to seeing Wonwoo around so much and _doing_ things.

It’s not that creepy that he maybe has a subconscious checklist of things he’s seen Wonwoo do. Breathing, blinking, eating dumplings, eating pizza, drinking tea, petting Cat, slathering on copious amounts of sunscreen, reading a book, frowning at the garlic bread Mingyu ordered—

It’s a pretty detailed list.

In fact, it’s repertoire has expanded to indented bullet points and sub-categories, split from Normal Living Functions, example: breathing, to Activities of Interest, such as: consistently arranging dishes chopsticks first and plates last, to Things Wonwoo Is Probably Unaware of, à la: pursing lips when deep in thought, nose scrunches to various amusing stimuli, and looking like a lost giraffe 40% of the time even in his own home.

Like now, with Wonwoo looking at him bug-eyed in disbelief.

It’s _weird_. It freaks Mingyu out that this is the same guy who looked a moment away from shooting him in the nuts, or whose stare generates the same reaction to feeling a sniper’s rifle being aimed at you.

“Aren’t you friend’s with Jihoon and Seungcheol hyung? Soonyoung, his roommate, is moving in with my coworker.”

Now it’s Mingyu whose eyes pop out.

“You didn’t know this?” Wonwoo asks.

Mingyu rubs his nose, mind racing around a stumbling highway for any recollection of some conversation to save him from embarrassment. If these things were ever mentioned to him at any point, there’s an eight out ten chance that it went right through his ears like wind through a tunnel. 

“To be honest,” he confesses, hesitant, “I don’t really know whether we’re friends.”

He doesn’t point out who he means by _we._ He’s not even sure who he means by it. Probably both. He thinks talking to him probably feels like talking to a pile of dust.

Number 18 on Things Wonwoo Is Probably Unaware of: piercing his bottom lip with his fangs when hesitant to speak.

“Mingyu,” Wow, that’s his name being said by Wonwoo’s voice, “did you even know Jihoon had a roommate?”

Mingyu considers lying for a second.

He shakes his head.

“Do you even know what my job is?”

Mingyu shakes his head again.

“Do you,” Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose, “even know the name of my cat?”

Mingyu’s cheeks burn. He shakes his head.

“I’ve heard you calling her Cat for the last three days. She has a collar, you know.”

“To be fair,” Mingyu justifies, “we don’t exactly talk a lot.”

He’s still not sure who he means by _we_.

A little bit of humiliation settles in his chest. Mingyu has this uncanny feeling in his stomach, the same as when he was a grade schooler and he’d been sent to the principal’s office for pushing someone off the monkey bars. Back then he’d sat silent through the phone call to his grandparents, angrily swiping cheeks, yellow eyes watching him with no sympathy to swaddle. He’d refused to explain why he’d done it.

“Her name’s Clawdia.”

Mingyu blinks.

“What?”

“You know, like the claws?” Wonwoo makes a swiping motions with his hands, fingers poised like if he had his own set and Mingyu shouldn’t feel like he’d just had a blanket thrown over his heart. “It’s silly, I know.”

Self-conscious about pet-naming decisions or life decisions Mingyu doesn’t know, Wonwoo absentmindedly scratches his pink cheek.

“To tell the truth, I’m not particularly great with social things either,” he begins to confess. Mingyu can only seem to listen, mind fading to a soft vignette at the quiet, earnest tone Wonwoo’s voice takes, “I don’t know that many people either, and I was born and raised in this city. I think if I moved, I would be doing way worse than uh, than you — not that I’m saying you’re doing bad, I’m just. Yeah, I think I’ve made my case.”

There it is again. Number eighteen. Mingyu wonders if Wonwoo’s ever broken the skin with the habit.

“I get what you mean,” Mingyu pushes his cheeks up with the force of his smile. His eyes fall down his hands, his calendar still leering up at him with Jihoon’s electronic, gremlin presence, “It’s harder than I thought it would be,” he admits.

“Do you know why?”

Mingyu pauses. Everything, every thought and worry and memory he’s been replaying, begin rolling around like marbles in his empty head. He could lie to Wonwoo. It’s not like he would know better and he had no right to pry even if he did.

Coming to the city felt like forever ago. A single suitcase resting against his old house’s fence, blue skies overheard and the wetness of mowed grass. Summer sun, cracked skin on his lips and the flush of a tan on his shoulders. An indecipherable look watching him go. His SRF badge, new and weighing more than iron in his pocket. The rank of blood, gasoline, rainwater. Seungcheol levelling him with a strange look, expectations translated with the firm clap on his shoulders.

His first cases had been harrowing. A month in he wasn’t sure he’d make it. The stench of iron had stained his ability to smell for weeks and he began to almost believe the burn of silver against his own skin. He struggled more than he’d like to admit.

“I don’t know why,” he mumbles.

Wonwoo smiles at him. In the brightness of daylight, the red tint to his eyes is coloured almost a deep, burnt gold. “But it get easier, right?”

It’s so honest when he says it like that. Some undeniable truth that Wonwoo’s gambled all his faith on, and maybe Mingyu wants to believe him when he returns with his own small smile.

“I guess.”

He realises he never did ask what Wonwoo’s job was. The relevance forgotten once he realised he had less than 2 hours to run down to the local mart, buy Jihoon’s stupid hummus, run back over to get dressed and then run over to this Soonyoung’s place with Wonwoo. The reminder however, is more painful than him pulling a stitch over an 8 block sprint with a torn up right arm sweating in its bandages. 

It’s merely a housewarming party, which in Mingyu’s extremely limited experience with, was equivalent to a tiny gathering with the most intimate of friends to admire the blinds or the floor and how the lighting is now adjustable. His margin of error isn’t so bad. There’s just heaps of fucking people here.

Whoever this Soonyoung and Seokmin are, they are _popular_.

He thinks he’s passed by half the precinct in here. Seungcheol and Jihoon are a given, but then there’s glimpses of Junhui, Hansol makes a momentary appearance in his field of vision, then there’s Seungkwan the civilian administrator, who’s admiring a karaoke machine, who waves at him once he’s spotted.

Almost as quick as he got in, Mingyu’d already lost Wonwoo to the mingling ocean and with Seungcheol and Jihoon equally vanished, he was also too chicken to strike up a conversation with some stranger.

This turn of events was unsurprising in the least.

He’s in middle of self-consciously restyling his wind-ruffled hair, hoping the sweat wasn’t still obvious on his forehead, when some guy comes up to him with a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“You’re the Mingyu, right?”

“Uh, yep,” he blinks down at the stranger. He’s got a sweet face and a high, pointed nose, eyes curved into tight crescents. There's an unexplained nagging feeling like he should be catching onto something here, “I’m the Mingyu.”

The guy _aahs_ at that, corners of his mouth pushed all the way up as he nods. As if being Mingyu is something that needs to be comprehended.

Mingyu wonders if he should start feeling offended.

“I’m Seokmin, by the way. Co-housewarmer.”

Oh. Wonwoo’s coworker, right?

“I’m also Wonwoo’s coworker. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Oh fuck.

“Is that so?” Mingyu tries to smile. He may have just walked into a bloodlusted vendetta plot tonight, “I can only imagine what there is to say about...me.”

Seokmin just chuckles at that. He’s either an impeccable actor or Mingyu can begin to breathe easy again for the rest of the night. But then he opens his mouth, words right on the tip of his tongue, and Mingyu catches the sharpness, the elongation, of his teeth.

“I just wanted welcome you to the city and all, and good luck with our Wonwoo.”

It’s harder to tell in the dim warmth of the lights, but Seokmin’s eyes, though narrowed in his smile, can’t hide their redness.

A dark, fuller red than Wonwoo’s own.

Mingyu’s mind swirls around, caught in a cyclone of questions and gut instincts tumbling over another. It’s not like he didn’t expect there to be Supernaturals here, it’s not like he doesn’t think Wonwoo wouldn’t know other vampires—

“He means well, he just has trouble being expressive, which you and I both know very well by now, but he's just self-conscious about this and that so—”

It’s just that he’s never met a vampire so...So characterful as Seokmin here. Well, Wonwoo isn’t exactly brimming with murderous auras, but it’s not like Mingyu hasn’t seen him irritated and with his initial default setting on brooding reservation.

Something dislodges itself in his brain. He dials back into the to the conversation, rapidly blinking himself back into a natural, attentive stupor.

“He hasn't met a new person since, well, his _last_ boyfriend so—”

“What?” Mingyu chokes. His glass almost slips out of his fingers, nearly massacring Seokmin's lovely new cream carpet.

Seokmin nods animatedly, “Oh, yeah, it was _bad_ . Almost 2 years ago, but scars will always ache. Guy was werewolf and I think he had this sort of thing against Wonwoo being half vampire, you know all that messy bloodthirsty history stuff, and _whew._ Thank the stars he was only a substitute teacher, hah!”

“Werewolf boyfriend? Teacher?” Mingyu dumbly repeats. The cogs in his head start to rust and groan.

“I guess he didn't tell you. You know the local Supers high school, the one by the Fairies Reserve? He teaches Advanced Maths and English. Yeah, essays _and_ maths, he has to work harder to get the kids to like him.”

This is particularly hilarious to Seokmin, who has to lean back to balance the weight of his laughter. The sound is rich and clear and Mingyu cannot believe that this chatterbox is a _vampire_. Warmth practically radiates from him. He probably has champagne and sprinkles and high fructose corn syrup for blood. He literally smells like brown sugar and fabric softener and childhood Summers tucked into toothy grin.

Faintly, he wonders if Seokmin had enraptured him without him even detecting it. Experienced enough, he might've blinked and Mingyu wouldn't know. Yet there is no light-headedness nor disjointed numbness untethering him from reality.

Instead, he feels like he’s swallowed a cloudy sky. His heart about to burst out of his chest, swollen with water.

“Anyway, enough about him. I've heard all sorts of—”

“Seokmin!”

It's Wonwoo, parting through the sparse crowd with someone close behind him. He's got a mildly panicked expression ruffling his usually smooth face, and Mingyu finds himself drawn to this unusual, messy fluster _._

_Huh._

Wonwoo tugs a little harshly at Seokmin's sleeve.

“Soonyoung here can't find his tzatziki dip, maybe you can— “ he jerks his head to the side, “go away and help him?”

The third person, Soonyoung, looks as if he'd been deeply, soulfully scorned. His red face a simmery pot of betrayal waiting to froth over, or, in the case of Mingyu’s own regard for dip, angrily devour cheese crackers.

“It's Jihoon, I know it! He's a little hummus whor—”

“Don't worry, Soonyoungie,” Seokmin swoops in then to grab his arms and peck his cheek, the momentum of his movement spinning Soonyoung to the side, away from a particular part of the crowd and saving Jihoon’s good name and the rest of evening, “I'll find your dip.”

Soonyoung melts like sugar in the sun, instantly and tacky to the touch, “Aw, Seoku, my hero.”

It gives Mingyu a little whiplash. He absentmindedly recalls Seungcheol telling in a conspiratorial whisper that Soonyoung was a gemini. Whatever that means.

As soon as those two out of earshot, which is quite a distance away, Wonwoo lets out a soft sigh.

“How much did he tell you?” He looks up but is barely able to meet Mingyu's eyes.

“Nothing,” Mingyu lies through his teeth, adding a good natured shrug to pep up his act, “He, uh, mentioned the carpet.”

It hardly looks like Wonwoo buys it, though it’s always hard to tell with him. Mingyu crosses his chest regardless, he loves being called out for being a shithead, but Wonwoo just ends up sighing.

It must be the boggy humidity of the apartment, all the closed doors and windows barring the night chill out and it’s churning his brain into a slow, oozing mess, yet Mingyu suddenly can't conjure a reason to complain. His eyes gravitate down to Wonwoo's collar. When they'd left, the loose, black shirt had been conservatively buttoned all the way up. Now, in the soft ochre glow of Adjustable Mood Lighting and Ocean Breeze candles, Wonwoo's collarbones are sharp on display, a suggestive plane of skin guiding his gaze downwards.

He snaps his eyes back up.

“I guess we _don’t_ talk that much,” Wonwoo laughs pitifully at this, oblivious. He rubs his nape.

Mingyu feels like he’ll pop if he doesn’t bring it up.

“So,” he casually rounds his lips, pulling the vowel along, “Seokmin’s a vampire too?”

There’s no discernible reaction on Wonwoo’s face, which frightens Mingyu the most, so like a baby deer in the rifle’s eye, he just keeps running his mouth on shaky legs, “I—I mean, I just noticed, that’s all. It’s just kind of funny to me because he’s so different from you and I thought... He wouldn’t? Be not like you?”

Wonwoo huffs. It's friendly. He's laughing at him. He pockets his hands into his trousers and just shrugs.

“We’re not all clones of each other, Mingyu. Seokmin’s always been like that. For 240 years, he’s still considered a baby.”

Mingyu’s face goes slack. All too often when he’s faced to face with one, he’ll forget just how deceiving a young face can be. Wonwoo raises a brow at him as if unexpectant of his surprise. Mingyu blushes a little.

He takes a sip of his water, “What about Soonyoung, how old is he?”

“25.”

Mingyu swallows, “Oh,” is all he can say.

Wonwoo shrugs, a weak lopsided smile on his lips. His nonchalance now is the poorest he has yet seen.

“They’re happy, though. They’re very happy right now.”

With no place to say anything, Mingyu just nods again, eyes cast downwards at the lovely cream carpet. He’s always understood the reasons why humans and supernaturals preferred not to mix with each other, but with this side of the dice right in front of his face, he’s never felt more conflicted.

“Mingyu?”

There’s an odd look in Wonwoo’s eyes and it reminds him again of candlelight. Warm but flickering.

“I’m fine,” he assures. He looks down at his shoes, they’re the one of the only pairs he’d salvaged from the wreck of his home. The thought evokes a colourless smile, “I haven’t seen Seungcheol all night, I’m just gonna go and look for him now.”

“Oh, okay.” Wonwoo looks, Mingyu swears, almost disappointed. 

There’s a place in Mingyu’s memories he doesn’t like to go back to. It’s a home in many ways, clasped shut with a small entrance and a small lock, its small key something he chose to swallow painlessly a long time ago. But like in all the ways it’s a home, Mingyu finds himself going back to visit the gravestones.

“What about you?”

They’re walking back to Wonwoo’s place together. The half moon is a bright guiding light, Mingyu’s heart pulling towards it like an ocean. Subdued with a phosherence, their shadows bridge the winding riverways leading back home.

It’s feels like their world alone. Their footsteps. Their breathing. The smell of rain carried by the horizon cradles around them.

“What about me?” Moonlight falls over Wonwoo’s face when he turns to look up at him.

“How old are you?”

Wonwoo huffs, head ducking down with an amused laugh. His nose scrunches up rather preciously. That’s number 5 on the list.

“I’m 25, Mingyu.”

“Oh, you’re my hyung, then,” Mingyu can’t believe he only learnt that now, “I guess I should apologise for being a bad dongsaeng, then.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, still smiling at the ground, “It’s fine, Mingyu,” he pockets his hands into his coat and he doesn’t ask Mingyu for his age. The chilling breeze doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest, “Why did you ask?”

Unsure how to say it, Mingyu rubs his nape, words rolling around his tongue like marbles.

“Curious. There’s an interspecies uh, marriage in my family so I just wonder, you know? About what’s it’s like for others.”

Wonwoo nods, his eyes widened a little, attentive to _Mingyu_. His face begins to feel hot against the night air. 

“And I guess I was just curious, you know, since you’re half vampire and all. Sorry.”

His voice trails off slowly, falling behind them and whipped away by the wind. Mingyu can feel his heart so clearly, his whole body empty except for its beat, his blood, and a lingering warmth.

“I probably won’t make it over 200, probably quite less, if I’m honest,” Wonwoo hardly looks fazed with the topic. He just scuffs his shoes against the pavement a little, staring at his own criss-crossed shadow from all the streetlamps and neon signs around them. Mingyu’s a little enamored with the way his black hair catches all the colours, haloing him like a dream.

“What about you?” Wonwoo mirrors him, smiling, “Who are your odd couple relatives? And how does your family feel about it?”

It's unsurprising at how Wonwoo's innocent inquiry takes Mingyu back, its hand clamping down on his shoulder and lurching him back.

The sound of a fist rapping on a door. Footsteps in a rhythm he'd long forgotten, the shadow of the moon criss-crossing his gravestones, his buried skeletons, his old home bent in the wind.

“Human and werewolf. My whole family aren’t very happy with it,” he shrugs, “I don’t really know how to feel.”

Wonwoo hums. His eyes return to the road they’re walking. In the darkness, they’re pitch black.

“I think you’re either happy for them, or you spend the rest of your life bitter about a choice that was never yours to make.”

Mingyu watches the way Wonwoo’s face soften, as if remembering the taste of something sweet. He wants to ask what he’s thinking, but instead he returns his eyes to the moon and thinks about home.

+

Somehow Mingyu had forgotten, _somehow_ , the most evident characteristic of Wonwoo's vampirism. That his teeth weren't for show and his eyes are just a fitting reminder.

“Shit.”

It's a bright weekend morning. Beaming light pushed back by the blinds, a hot crackling fizz from pancake batter on a stove, some talk show left on as white noise, and Mingyu completely un-assed with his bed hair and lazy basketball shorts on a Saturday.

“What's wrong?”

Wonwoo's crouched down in front of his opened refrigerator, the bottom chilled compartment pulled open and bare. Mingyu flips a perfect pancake over. Golden brown and thick as a cloud.

Over all the noise, whatever Wonwoo mumbles in response is lost to him.

“What's that?”

Wonwoo turns to look at him, “I'm out of blood.” 

“Oh,” his lips round out, Wonwoo averting his gaze as he turns the fire lower, “I thought you were fine just off of human food?”

He's never seen Wonwoo drink blood, much less even heard him mention it. Plus, he's never actually encountered a vampire who didn't whither away or starve themselves in a murder spree after two weeks. Then again, vampiric studies on mixed-blood parentage are as rare as the individuals.

“I can go without blood longer,” It's as if Wonwoo heard his thoughts, “but human food can't replace it and I still need it once in a while. Once a month at least.”

“Can you just go down to the Bank to restock?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. He sighs, still crouched down in front of his cold tomatoes and cranberry juice, and ruffles his hair with both his hands.

“It's complicated. There's always more demand than supply with donated blood, and it's _expensive_. So everyone can only get a limited number of packets every 6 months, and if you forget to renew, the process is a pain in the ass. For me, I also need to provide proof of parentage too.”

Mingyu's forehead wrinkles, “Is there no other way?”

Wonwoo shrugs. He finally pushes the compartment back in and shuts the appliance door. He suddenly looks exhausted, skin greyer and broad shoulders loosened. “Those restaurants exist, but they’re either unethical or the blood value is too little to satiate. I'd have to wait a month or two at least until I'm approved for a new batch.”

“There's no way anyone can afford that.”

Wonwoo chuckles, “Some of us either find a drinking partner, or go more… lucrative. Which is why crime rates are so high, yeah?” Wonwoo sends him a look. There's no malice, no accusation, but it has Mingyu ducking his head.

He's not ashamed of his job. Capturing murderers, preventing homicides and robberies isn't something he'd spit in the name of, but he's aware of the nuance. He's only a rookie, but the grey area between reporter headlines and police tapes is expanding like smog to him too, day by day.

It's complicated.

“So what're you going to do?” He asks, licking his lips.

Wonwoo stands up, “I can probably wait it out a bit, maybe a week or two more? Til then I'll think of something.”

That doesn't sit well with Mingyu at all.

“Isn't that dangerous? You said one month was your limit.”

There's a rueful smile, “One month was the longest I've tested myself against. I'm pretty sure I can squeeze it out a bit, don't worry.”

Mingyu waves his spatula around in the air, getting hot batter on his arm, “Well, how long has it been since you last…?”

His question trails off into silence at the sight of Wonwoo biting his lip.

“Exactly a month,” he admits, “Just before you arrived. It'll be fine, Mingyu. I promise.”

Mingyu wants to say more. His mouth opens to protest, but he catches the stench of smoke and he curses, swivelling back around to turn the flames off. The pancake’s burnt black. When he turns back around, Wonwoo's already gone.

Wonwoo's noticeably begins to lose himself after that. It's the hunger, Mingyu can tell, some deeper, more carnal ache digging into his stomach and it’s driving him, well, batty. He's eating less human food, pale as paper, speaking less and less, and this sudden off-road veering has Mingyu antsy, as if he’s strapped to the passenger seat and just waiting for it to drive right off a cliff.

Almost as soon as he gets home, Wonwoo goes to bed. He doesn't even spare Mingyu more than a glance and a flash of red eyes before he locks himself behind his door.

Clawdia isn't happy with the lack of attention. Mingyu is spending the nights stroking her fur and wondering whether it was exhaustion or suppression that has forced him to sleep at 7pm.

His soft-spoken amiability is slipping too. Wonwoo hasn't glared at nor ignored Mingyu since their terrible introduction but now, the creeping bite in his attitude is really beginning to sting and like, _whatever_ . He’s not that sensitive, not a brat baby. But now even Hansol of all people has noticed and he’d just laughed at him, some condescending pat back on the back and offering him his horrific newt jam croissant. Mingyu’s _fine_ , just, sort of bummed out.

Bummed out that Wonwoo is laughing less at his antics and hilarious, unexaggerated workplace recounts, banter falling short and flat like dead flies and, probably the worst on Mingyu’s new list, smiling less.

Scratch that. Wonwoo clicking his tongue at him when they bumped shoulders was the worst. He may have pouted in front of the television for the rest of the night, Clawdia sulking in his lap too.

Perhaps it’s both of them spiralling. Mingyu’s own brand of paranoia starts to breed and he’s worried that if Wonwoo doesn’t get his fix soon, he might end up doing something worse than clicking his tongue at minor incidents, something vitally against his nature. Or to his nature.

“Can you look this over for me?”

Seungcheol, with a blazer thrown over his shoulder and messy hair messily restyled, hovers over him with a file in his hands. It’s date night, by the looks of it, and he’s clocking in early to make up for the rush hour traffic downtown.

Mingyu takes the case and flips through, scanning through photographs of a bloody scene, grainy footage screencaps, transcripts, autopsies.

“I think this one could be behind with the Red River murder,” Seungcheol says as he slips his blazer on, dusting the lapel, “I mean, that area has its share of feral vamps, but this one is timed perfectly with her feeding schedule.”

It’s true. Before her first kill, she’d been as much as an average vampire acclimated into the new world. Then with a string of financial stresses she’d gone rogue, unwillingly by the pacing of it, with every kill exactly three weeks apart. Willing ones never go beyond a few days.

Mingyu closes the folder and shoots his friend a smile, “I’ll look into it.”

“Don’t stay in too late,” Seungcheol pockets his badge away, “Wonwoo’s the kind to wait up.”

Call it catastrophizing, Mingyu simply isn’t a fan of taking risks.

“Mingyu, whatever this is, can it wait til later? I have nearly eighty papers to grade and I want to sleep.”

Mingyu basically maneuvers Wonwoo down onto the couch, making sure he properly sits rather than brace for bolting, before sitting down beside him.

The curtains are thrown open, the half moon peering down at them from its perch. The bags Wonwoo sports beneath his red eyes are as blue as the night.

Honestly, Mingyu wants to sleep too but his exhaustion is being pummeled with a growing anxiety warring in his gut instincts. He never ignores his instincts.

“Hyung, you have to feed, tonight.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, “I'm not hungry.”

“You know what I mean.”

Wonwoo scoffs but at meeting what Mingyu hopes is his best, unwavering Perpetrator Glare, his shoulders slack in defeat.

“Fine. Fine, but it's late and I really do have all this work to do. I'll go to a restaurant first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Nope,” Mingyu shakes his head, “Tonight, hyung.”

“Mingyu, seriously —”

“You can drink from me.”

His cheeks warm despite his efforts as soon the words leave his mouth. Wonwoo, too, is stunned into silence.

“Are. Are you serious?”

Mingyu has read enough cases on crimes of vampiric passion to understand what connotations he's just thrown at their feet. From the way Wonwoo's ears are turning red, nothing's lost on him either.

“I'm serious. I've thought about it a lot,” he assures.

Wonwoo licks his fangs. “I'd...rather not, Mingyu,” he confesses.

It almost feels like he's being rejected for some reason and that doesn’t sit nicely with him. Not nicely at all. He shoves the sting aside. This is just two roommates helping each other out. Just two guys through tough times. Just two —

“You know it more dangerous the more you prolong it, Wonwoo. Just think of it as me doing my duty.”

Wonwoo still hesitates.

“It'll be just this once.”

“Just once?”

Mingyu nods. Wonwoo breathes out, scratching his collar.

“Okay. Okay, just, I've never drank from someone else before so if I do anything wrong…” Wonwoo's eyes suddenly flit up to meet his, burning red and serious. Mingyu swallows, “I give you permission to do whatever you need. And sorry, in advance,” he adds with a nervous smile.

“Right,” Mingyu smiles back, equally wavering. He then clears his throat, “So...How do we do this?”

Adjusting himself to face Mingyu better, Wonwoo meets and misses Mingyu's curiously hesitant gaze, voice small when he finally answers.

“Probably take your shirt off if you don't want to get it stained.”

So Mingyu does, quickly and clinically unbuttoning all the way down but not pulling it off fully because it's damn cold, goosebumps already raising along his arms since Wonwoo likes to keep his apartment as a makeshift icebox. Instead, he lets it drop down his back slightly and leaves it open, bare chest and shoulders out.

It's a little embarrassing, Mingyu admits. It's been a while for him.

“Step one done,” he quips lightly, shrugging.

Wonwoo just nods, mouthing under his breath what Mingyu swears is _wow_ as he fails to discreetly checks him out. He’s not overtly muscular, but he has requirements to meet for the physical part of his job. Any opinion he has of his appearance is candid, impersonal, it’s...it’s...

It's more than a little embarrassing now.

He clears his throat and Wonwoo snaps his eyes back up.

“It's going to hurt. Really hurt,” Wonwoo still hasn't moved. His hands are caught between the fabric of his shirt, twisted between his fists and Mingyu’s under the impression he's trying not to outright turn tail and run.

If anything, Mingyu’s the one who should have his tail tucked.

“Don't you know how to numb it?”

“I...do. But I've never done it before,” Wonwoo rubs the bridge of his nose, “and there might be interesting side effects.”

He looks terrified. Like he has stage fright, knees knocked together, hands balled up and it sets a wave of empathy rushing down Mingyu.

He breathes out, willing his muscles to untense. He grins, promising and warm. Wonwoo needs to be encouraged more than anything else, and while he's kinda touched by the concern for his safety, he's not going to back down from this.

He slaps the junction of his shoulder and neck, “The faster we get to it, the sooner we can sleep, yeah?”

Wonwoo nods, stiff, but complies by pulling his legs up onto the couch and swinging one leg over onto Mingyu's lap, almost straddling his thigh. Without a thought, Mingyu brings a hand to rest on his waist. Despite the intimacy, with Wonwoo's reluctance and the position he's chosen, they're in a rather awkward angle to another that forces Mingyu to turn his head to the side to rake his gaze over Wonwoo's more or less tortured expression.

Mingyu might have said he was relieved that Wonwoo was as awkward and embarrassed as he was about the situation, but he's just distracted. Mind vacated. Stupid. Anything other than the heat of Wonwoo's body, the pressure of his legs against thigh, his hand tentative against his shoulder, his red eyes, evaporate completely.

Wonwoo leans forward, breathing just a little harder, lips just an inch away from his skin.

“If it's too much, tell me to stop,” his breath, now so close to his ear, has turned heavier, raspier and Mingyu shudders when he feels Wonwoo lightly nosing down his neck, down to his clavicle, his shoulder.

It's been over a month, Mingyu remembers. This close to his skin, his blood, Wonwoo's clear-headedness would fog over to territories neither he nor Mingyu had gone through before.

But he’s okay with being unchartedly stupid.

Wonwoo suddenly licks a bold stripe against his skin, his pulse jumping at the contact, and Mingyu flinches immediately when sharp, white pain breaks through his skin, sinking down and down in an agonising ache.

He grunts, breath stilling as his hand comes up to grip the wrist of Wonwoo's hand resting on his opposite shoulder.

It must hurt, his strength, because Wonwoo quickly pulls away ever so slightly. Right against his ear, Wonwoo's panting is shallow and quick as if those few moments had the same rush of blazing wildfire.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “I'll— I’ll try to numb it. Jesus—”

His teeth sink back in. Mingyu curses, grip tightening on both Wonwoo's arm and waist. Sweat begins to bead against his forehead.

He doesn't know how long it takes Wonwoo to feed and he's beginning to consider an early surrender when slowly, in waves, the pain begins to ebb away.

He almost slumps in relief. His hands slacken, the one holding Wonwoo's wrist drops to cradle the other side of his waist, running up and down his side.

It's strange. The pain is gone but there's another sensation filling in its place. It's slow, warm, like the cradling heat of a hearth simmering in his gut but getting hotter by the passing second until —

Until Mingyu recognises it.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut again.

He does not want to pop a hard on this situation. He does not want _Wonwoo_ to notice he has a hard on this situation.

Please don't get a boner, please don't get a boner, please—

Wonwoo's knee shifts slightly and the pressure, the heat and the gorgeous friction right up against his dick, it has Mingyu pressing a pained groan into the back of his teeth. Fighting back the urge to rut back into it. Into this new kind of torture. What the _fuck_ did he sign up for.

He's woozy, getting harder to think. It’s the arousal or the blood loss or the way Wonwoo's body is pressing up his, moulding against him like a hot fever. He has no idea.

This went from mildly, to death-becoming humiliating.

So Mingyu thanks the stars above when Wonwoo finally pulls away, breathing deeply. His teeth slip out from his wound, grazing his feverish skin before his tongue returns to catch the trickling stream of blood escaping down his chest. Mingyu's dick definitely jumps at that.

And Wonwoo definitely notices.

“Oh!”

He jumps back, gaze dropping down to where his knee was just connected. He outright ogles the tent in Mingyu's jeans, almost as if unsure what it was or how it got there. A glorious sunset of red starts to run down from his face into his neck. Mingyu could die in that moment.

“Sorry,” Mingyu grits out. He's also red in the face and breathing hard, maybe or maybe not for completely different reasons. He lowers his hands to cover his crotch, “I'm assuming these are the side effects.”

Wonwoo nods, silent and still staring at him. At _it_.

“I didn't think it'd be this...much, though,” he eventually confesses, voice a little croaky, eyes tearing away to meet Mingyu’s own.

He sort of looks wrecked. In the sexual sense. Which Mingyu’s uncooperative dick is both totally not and totally is appreciating.

Eyelids drooping low, satiated and blissed, cheeks a dark rouge in the darkness with his eyes carrying a red-tinted touch that Mingyu can feel pressing right into his chest.

Wonwoo wipes his darkened lips, “Sorry,” his breathing has begun to even but his deep voice is still somewhat hoarse, as if he'd just woken up from a daze, “I didn't mean to.”

“It's okay,” Mingyu stiffly makes a move to stand and Wonwoo quickly scrambles off of him, the sudden disappearance of his heat and weight an unpleasant shock to his system, “I'm going to take a shower now.”

Wonwoo doesn't say anything back, but Mingyu knows he's watching him go.

It's a long, cold shower.

+

“I really have to leave for work now, Wonwoo.”

The original, standing agreement was once, and once only.

“Just,” Wonwoo slips his teeth out, the point of his fangs tapping against his skin as he speaks, “just tell Seungcheol it was my fault.”

It's only been a week. 

“It _is_ your fault,” Mingyu groans, letting his forehead fall atop Wonwoo's shoulder. Wonwoo hums disapprovingly at the movement, the tautening of his neck changing the flow of blood. “You also know I need time to...recuperate.”

Wonwoo returns to surface again, lips right against the slick, hotness of his skin “Go to work with blue balls, so what?”

He's different when he's feeding, and Mingyu's conflicted on how to react.

He pinches his side, “You're no fun.”

Maybe there would’ve been a laugh there, a chuckle at least, but Wonwoo returns to his throat and Mingyu tries not to crush his ribs in the process.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only the epilogue left! thank u for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks !

“Seungcheol hyung, can I ask you something?”

“You already did,” Seungcheol fires back. He doesn’t even glance up from where he’s going through and forcefully signing mounds of procrastinated paperwork. Or collateral damage paperwork. Or both. 

Maybe Mingyu should just save it for later. 

“Good talk,” he nods, and shuffles backwards out the door. 

“Hey, you got a minute?” 

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” The fridge door swings shut and Hansol stands up from his crouch.

Despite being younger than Mingyu, experience-wise, Hansol is technically his senior. Some fresh-faced upcoming star since his academy days, and with the rate he’s catching up to Jihoon’s track record, upcoming youngest captain of a district. 

That is, of course, if he passes the benchmark for publically tolerable eccentricity levels. 

“What the fuck is that?”

Hansol looks down at his lunchbox.

“My lunch?”

Mingyu can’t recall the last time something that  _ glowed  _ was considered edible. Maybe Hansol wouldn’t be his best choice for advice. 

“You know what, I forgot. Maybe later.”

“Hyung, do you have time?”

“Mingyu, we’re in the middle of an interrogation,” Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing with the effort of the earth on his shoulders before turning back around to the vampire opposite them. He slams his small fist on the table. The bang pierces the tiny room, fizzing out into the corners.

Their suspect rolls his eyes. Lips as tight as they’d been for the past forty-two minutes.

“Come on, hyung. He’s not talking so let’s talk about  _ my  _ problems.”

“ _ Mingyu _ .”

“I’ve already been rejected by everyone, you’re my last hope.”

“You only asked Seungcheol and Hansol, don’t lie to me. You,” he turns back to their prospective blood Bank Burglar, eyes narrowed and a finger pointed dead centre to his forehead, “Just confess and tell us who you’re working with so the both of us don’t have to hear this.”

The vampire shrugs his shoulders.

Mingyu takes it as his cue to go.

Naturally, it’s about Wonwoo. Who has lately been taking up to 90% of his headspace throughout every waking hour of the day when he’s not thinking about crime, blood, or criminals, which is driving Mingyu a little up the wall. Just a little. 

“Okay, so you know how Wonwoo's a vampire?” Jihoon rolls his eyes, “Well, a bunch of shit happened, and Wonwoo forgot to renew his blood stock with the Bank and yadda yadda and I think I'm his ‘drinking buddy’ now, or something?” 

“Gyu, what the fuck?” Jihoon turns fully in his seat to ensure Mingyu can get the full view of his exasperation. 

Even their criminal raises a brow. 

Mingyu places a hand on the junction of his neck and shoulder, over the bandaged bite mark that has been bothering him for days now with its dull ache. “There was a time and a situation, and I did what had to be done but now I think it's kind of out of control. Today I was late to work for the fourth time this month...” 

Jihoons slumps back against his seat, eyes to ceiling. And he calls Mingyu dramatic. “Why do I think you're telling me what I think you're telling me?” 

Mingyu fiddles with his fingers, “That I've entered a non-sexual predatory friends-with-benefits relationship by accident?” 

“Seriously how did you even do this to yourself? Didn't you try to set up ground rules first?” 

“I did! We agreed just one time but then...There was another time and another place and hyung said this and that and it was late so…” 

Jihoon serves him a deadpanned look. 

“Don't get me wrong, I'm not insinuating nothing, but other than pain, won't feeding…” His eyes dart to Mingyu's jewels back and forth. 

Mingyu chokes, “Yeah…” 

Both Jihoon and their criminal snort. He hears a mumbled  _ who knew Wonwoo had it in him. _

“And you're extremely frustrated? And you find it extremely awkward and embarrassing and you're now unsure how to act around your attractive roommate?” 

Mingyu's brain begins to hurt. He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he cradles his face. What the fuck is he gonna do?

“Mate, just be his friend.”

Mingyu and Jihoon look up. The guy, the burglar, shrugs, his silver handcuffs clacking against each other. For someone who’d been pulling off dozens of coordinated Bank heists for the past two years, there was a deep sympathy blanketing his face in his regards to Mingyu’s own dry spell of common decency. 

“You're complicating things for yourself. If you're uncomfortable with it, just tell him and he'll get it. If you want more, you get a yes or no, not the end of the world. It's not like you guys hate each other.”

“Of course we don't,” Mingyu blurts out, “I mean, of course we don't  _ anymore _ . But it's not like I hate he's feeding off of me, I just wish it didn't make me so...confused? What if I tell him how I feel and things become weird again? What if he's always hated me and he's now just using me as a blood bag?” 

Jihoon snorts. He crosses his arms and adjusts himself to sit upright on the uncomfortable, standard-issue station chairs. He fixes their vampire with a nasty glare to remind him just how not off the hook he is, even if giving his friend life advice, before turning to face Mingyu. 

“Gyu, you’re a likeable idiot,” Jihoon shamelessly tells him, “From what I could tell from Soonyoung’s party, you’re already out of the water. You’re five miles into dry land, you’re on the fucking freeway. Just be honest _.  _ Be  _ yourself _ ,” he finishes off with a theatrical fluttering of fingers.

Now Mingyu has no idea what the hell  _ that  _ means. Not even Mingyu wants Mingyu to be Mingyu. Plus, he barely saw Jihoon that night and was convinced he’d booked it after being the grinch who stole cracker dip. Maybe had a one on one brawl in the alleyway with Soonyoung.

Things with Wonwoo at the moment, after their...first time, have been fine. They’re fine, pleasant. Cordial. 

It’s kind of giving Mingyu an ulcer to not picture him in anything beyond a PG-13 situation.

He wants to hang around Wonwoo, joke with Wonwoo, not think about Wonwoo pressed against him, or about his lips and his teeth and skin, the way he's hazy-eyed and warm while Mingyu's standing beneath a freezing stream of water, hands pressed against the cold, wet tiles above his waist. 

Seungcheol had thought forcing him into Wonwoo’s sphere would be a benefit for the both of them, but right now he feels like he's being circled in a shark tank. 

“If it helps,” both Mingyu and Jihoon turn around, “a way to a vampire’s heart is always through their fangs.”

Mingyu drops his face back into his hands. 

+

To his credit, Mingyu does try to be himself. It backfires completely. 

Generally speaking, Mingyu being pure, unfiltered Mingyu hasn’t worked in his favour for most of his life. He doesn’t know why he bothered anything different.

He's determined to tell Wonwoo the truth, that he's flattered his blood is so appealing, thankful that Wonwoo’s pacing himself so he’s doesn’t have to throw back iron tablets like fairy dust or whatever, but that this arrangement is way too deep in the waters for him, and he’s a simple kinda guy not really looking, not really emotionally available for anyone. The plan, Mingyu devises, is to tell Wonwoo after he's fed so there's none of that hangriness and Wonwoo would be in too good of a mood to kick him in the jewels. 

But, speaking of jewels. 

“Do you think maybe this time you can not numb it?” 

Wonwoo blinks at him as if he'd grown a second head.

He's perched on his lap, hands on his shoulders and knees bracketing his hips, just like their first time but evolved more intimate, comfortable, and with a perfect view to focus on Wonwoo's collarbones. Great. 

“Are you sure? You barely lasted thirty seconds the first time.” 

Despite not being able to see his face, the solid concern in his voice alone has Mingyu swallowing. 

“Yeah, I'm sure. I'm apart of the SRF, what's a little bit of pain?” he humours. 

By the contemplative noise he makes, Wonwoo's not convinced. Yet the hands on his shoulders loop around his neck and he leans in, lips closing in on his bared skin and Mingyu's own hold tenses and tightens in anticipation. 

“When it gets too much, tell me immediately.” 

Mingyu squeezes him once in understanding, and braces. 

It hurts. It's a molten white dagger sinking into his skin right to the hilt, and it  _ hurts _ . The pain burns and melts and spreads across down through the layers, through his veins, his blood, a wildfire intensity that has him gripping Wonwoo's shirt with his knuckles white, feverish and trembling. An ache throbs in its wake, up to his head until he's struggling to control his breathing. 

But Mingyu clenches his eyes shut and holds through it. He'd rather go through this than fuel the guilt that sits in his belly when he lingers too long on Wonwoo's red lips, his taut neck, his long legs. Remembers everything about these brief intimate pockets, the weight, the warmth, his lust and its trailing temptation. How Wonwoo doesn't know how much he's starting to haunt him. 

He’s getting dizzy. Hard to breathe. The pain spreads with the thickness of a plague, and he feels it spreading through his lungs. It’s hard for him to even keep his eyes open, heavy lids fluttering close as he tries to rebel. 

Hands, then. Hands on his chest, on his arms, shaking him. 

“Mingyu? Mingyu, are you—” 

Mingyu blinks rapidly, darkness pulsing in and out of his vision and he tries to recollect himself. He furiously wipes his eyes, “I'm fine, I'm fine,” he breathes, “I might have just, lost concentration a bit.” 

Wonwoo shakes his head. Through his wet eyes, he's all blurry and his expression is too foggy to make out but his voice cuts clear through the water with panic, “I'm sorry, I'm really sorry.” 

Mingyu shakes his hands, “No, I'm okay. I mean it. Just a physical reaction to pain—” 

Wonwoo pulls him into a fierce hug. Rright up against him, chest to chest, his head against his shoulder and a hand threaded through his hair. Mingyu’s head blanks.

“You idiot, you fell unconscious, you're  _ not  _ fine,” his voice is muffled but he can hear with no problem, “I’m sorry. I should've stopped sooner.” 

This is bad. Mingyu's heart has dropped into a drumbeat kick and its loud and it hurts and Wonwoo can definitely feel it. Nothing seems to make any sense, his whole body ringing with bruising percussion, his head dented like a cymbal. 

“Hyung, do you really think I'm that fragile?” He laughs weakly.

He feels Wonwoo shake his head, “You're just stupid,” he sighs, and then admits, “I'm stupid. I thought I killed you for a second.” 

The hand on his back begins to tremble. Mingyu finally returns his embrace, squeezing him to his chest. He’s still a little lightheaded but he chuckles anyway. It’s as if he’s thinking underwater.

“You didn't. I'm as good as new, Wonwoo, I'm okay. And we don't ever have to do that again.” 

Wonwoo nods again and to a disappointment he quickly dismisses, begins to pull away. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dewy, offering him a pale smile that barely twitches the corner of his lips. Despite everything that’d just happened, Mingyu's captivated with him. All lurches and somersaults in his gut. 

He never would have thought Wonwoo would react like this to him. He’s still shaken. Still just staring down at him, eyes wavering over his face as if still trying to make sure he was okay. 

Mingyu might be a little infatuated. Might want to just solve that space between them and kiss him until he’s laughing again, all sweet and sour and citrusy on his tongue. 

He drops his eyes back down. He's totally into Wonwoo. 

A flash of panic ignites his chest. He likes him. What the fuck is he going to do? 

His fidgeting had Wonwoo snapping out of his daze and he scrambles off of him and wow those  _ thighs  _ and those  _ lips  _ and wow Mingyu  _ really _ has to get out of here. 

He staggers up, quickly fixing his shirt. Wonwoo sort of just hovers beside him with a lost, wounded baby animal look to his demeanour, fingers intertwined, eyes trailing everywhere and gnawing on his bruising lip. 

Mingyu really needs to find a place to panic but it goes right against his pained conscience to just leave Wonwoo alone like this. He's stuck. They're both stuck, awkwardly lingering in the scene. 

“I'm…” he breaks off, brain going into overdrive for a response, “going to go buy us dinner.” 

Nailed it. 

“O-okay,” Wonwoo nods, a hand coming up to rub his elbow. 

“See you...later.” Mingyu bites hard into his lip. 

_ Why  _ is he such a shit-for-brains? 

Wonwoo just nods again, eyes still wide and looking spooked. Crap, Mingyu's heart manages to break and melt at the same time. It's been three minutes and he's already too much for him. 

He swoops in to pull Wonwoo into a quick embrace, catching him by surprise with a small  _ mmph _ , squeezing him in reassurance one last time and letting go right as he feels the thin skin of his heart begin to burst. 

“Stop worrying, hyung,” he smiles, breathless. Fuck, he just wants to nail a kiss on him right now.

He practically runs out the door, coat forgotten and all jittery, a beehive alive in his gut, gluey and golden and fucking  _ insane _ , those faint brushes of Wonwoo's hands on his waist, in his hair imprinting into his skin. 

Oh god, he just made everything worse.

+

“Oh god, I made everything worse.” 

Junhui can be a good listener. 

“There, there. At least boning him is no longer your number one priority.” 

_ Can be. _

“Now it's winning his heart! Much more romantic and classy.” 

A while back, he and Junhui didn’t talk much, the latter being a scene technician with their paths only crossing non-spurring scenes of conversation. But a lot has happened in past weeks for him to go and experience Junhui’s famous advice skills for himself. Frankly, at the moment they’re not living up to their hype. 

He groans into his arms. 

“I’m not going to go and win anything,” They’re at some shitty diner down the road from the station where the coffee tastes like gravel, the service is subpar and the cheesecake, he swears, is gelatinous. Mingyu stabs his slice and watches it wobble. 

Whatever fantasy he has for him and Wonwoo won’t work out, he knows this. It can't ever. It shouldn't ever. He has to find a way to ruin it as quickly as possible before it started to grow, multiply, spread into something incurable.

“Why not?” perplexion colours Junhui's face, voice crystal with disappointment, “You two are cute, what's stopping it?”

Mingyu squirms. From the outside looking in, there really shouldn't be anything stopping him. Aside from the fine details obviously on their current social and political environment, the rejection he’ll face from the Super and the superless-natural worlds, Mingyu’s home raised ineptitude for relationships, and the fact Wonwoo is leagues above his fathomability to  _ wanting to suck his dick back.  _

Then, in even finer print, the post scriptum of this ordeal that has his belly, his brain, his stupid heart aching, that Wonwoo will not like the real him one bit. Not one bit at all. 

“Personal reasons,” Mingyu says succinctly, “It's better off if I don't do anything.” 

Junhui exhales, shaking his head as if he'd caught him drawing on all the walls in crayon. It should feel patronising, but Mingyu can only sympathise. 

“What’s that saying, again?” his friend taps the end of his fork to his chin, “Don’t count your cockatrices before they hatch?”

“If that was meant to be a dick joke...”

“I’m  _ saying _ , Mingyu,” the man shrugs and pokes his cold, squishy scrambled eggs, “you’re allowed to indulge in some lighthearted fantasy. Have your fun. If you’re so against it, it’ll go away, anyway.” 

That. Makes some sense.

“Right, just a crush.”

Junhui nods, “Right.”

Yeah. Yeah, it’s just a crush. Playground material, dispensable, watery. Gelatinous. He watches his cheesecake wobble. 

“Okay,” he breathes, “Thanks, hyung. I guess.”

Mingyu can deal with that. 

+

“Can you do me a favour?”

Wonwoo’s awkwardly hovering over Mingyu, who, just having woken up, startles at the sight of Clawdia struggling in his arms, her eyes spooked open and burning livid. Wonwoo’s either got insane pain tolerance or the strongest self control because his entire forearm is littered in scratches, the sight taking an axe to Mingyu’s drowsiness.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” He quickly rubs his eyes, sitting up and watching the thin lines of blood beginning to trickle down his skin. 

“It’s nothing,” Wonwoo grunts, narrowly dodging his cat’s claws against his chin. “It’s time for her V-E-T visit and it’s…” he sighs with an immortal sombreness, “it’s a lot.”

“Why are you spelling vet?”

Clawdia hisses with the fury of feline scorn, somehow  _ angrier  _ than before. Mingyu laughs weakly at the glare Wonwoo levels him. 

“I always get a friend to help. Damage control. And, yeah, you’re already here so.”

Wonwoo shrugs with one elbow. It’s stiff. Things have sort of been stiff for the last few days. 

“Right, right,” Mingyu wobbles out of bed, careful to shuffle as much space between him and the radius of the cat’s arsenal range. He stumbles until he’s sure he’s fully upright, bracing himself in front of the small, furry cluster of atomic detonation. “What do I need to do?”

“I left her cage somewhere near the couch. You need to help me shove her in.”

Mingyu’s eyes bulge. Surely that’s an exaggeration. 

It’s not. 

All hyperboles aside, Mingyu’s having a hard time pulling his eyes away from the cat cage. There’s a few encyclopaedias and full edition dictionaries on top of it to prevent her from toppling herself over but Mingyu swears he can still see the cage vibrating. He gulps. 

She really is a beast. 

There’s a soft  _ Ow  _ muttered beside him and Mingyu swallows his heart when he remembers the bloodied state Wonwoo is in. He swivels his head back around to where the man is carefully rolling up one of his sleeves, grimacing at the sight of his arms beginning to imitate tasteless abstract. Most of them are superficial from what he can tell, most already closed up in part thanks to accelerated immune responses.

But Wonwoo’s still half human and Mingyu still hates the site of blood. 

“We should fix that first before going out.”

“It’s fine,” Wonwoo shakes his head. He rolls up the last sleeve but it’s already smeared with a faint redness, “We need to leave soon if we want to make her appointment. Besides, nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” 

That really doesn’t make Mingyu feel any better whatsoever. He’s gone through basic first aid procedurals and while he’s no paramedic, he can at least dress a wound. He grips the hem of Wonwoo’s shirt and pulls him over to the bathroom, prompting a groan from the latter, who acquiesces anyway. 

“Mingyu, it’s really nothing. Really,” Wonwoo tries again one they’re inside the bathroom, leaning against the door. Mingyu swears he’s beginning to look petulant and while it’s a stake to his stupid floppy heart, he crouches down, stubborn, and starts to fumble around with the cabinets. 

Through copious amounts of vitamin D bottles, sunburn lotion and aloe salve, his hands meet something at the back. It’s a small box that used to be a biscuit tin, a layer of dust collected on the lid. Mingyu laughs to himself when he opens to find the first aid supplies within. 

Figures.

“Sit down,” he orders, smiling when Wonwoo’s face contorts to look put off but he complies regardless. He settles down on the edge of the bathtub, obediently holding his forearms out without having to be prompted. Mingyu settles down on the floor in front of him.

He works in silence for the first few minutes, the drowsiness of the morning creeping back on him and making him feel somewhat weightless, subdued. Other than being unconscious, he’s pretty sure it’s the only time his mouth voluntarily closes. 

Neither he nor Wonwoo makes a sound aside from the shuffling of fabric and the tearing of antibacterial swabs. Wonwoo’s usually quiet, Mingyu figures, but as the situation prolongs and he begins to sober up, his head starts to overheat. 

Wonwoo. Who’s reserved and cool but gets antsy about his cat. Who fusses over bad grammar and bad handwriting, but leaves a mess of laundry and shampoo bottles in his tiny bathroom, who has half a first-aid kit but enough sunscreen to block out the sun. Wonwoo, and the way he’s watching Mingyu’s fingers begin to fumble over his arm. The way he’s watching Mingyu. 

Suddenly he has to exert an extreme amount of effort to not think about the amount of cold showers he’s taken in very this room because of a certain someone. Tries not to think about what they did a few days ago and what he feels and...

How he really, really likes Wonwoo. 

Pot, kettle, boiling over. 

He’ll end blurting something stupid and inappropriate if he doesn’t begin menial chit chat  _ now _ .

But then Wonwoo clears his throat, and it cuts through his thoughts like a knife. 

“Sorry,” he says, his voice scratchy, “that you had to wake up to this.” 

Mingyu looks up and the movement is unfamiliar to his neck. Wonwoo’s looking down at him, but the moment Mingyu reciprocates the gaze, his eyes dart to the floor beside him. 

Rarely does he get to be so close with him in this gentler, placid way, Mingyu realises, noticing their proximity. His hands cradling Wonwoo’s arms, fingers circling his wrist. They’re thin, just like his skin. Thinner in a way that Mingyu’s own doesn’t show with the blue impressions of veins, but they don’t feel weak in his hands. They’re solid. 

At the lack of his response, Wonwoo keeps stringing on, ears turning pink. 

“I probably should have told you beforehand but you came in late last night and I wanted you to sleep so I just, I don’t know, was stupid,” he huffs a dry laugh at himself, “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Don’t say that,” Mingyu hurries out, “This is totally okay, you can spring anything on me.”

Wonwoo blinks at him. Mingyu feels a flush running down his neck, hot as a midday sun and it’s just a palmful of his amazing  _ tact  _ smacking him in the face. 

“That came out really weird, didn’t it?”

Wonwoo snorts. Mingyu thinks it’s a little life threatening, how cute the scrunch of his nose is, how his face just squeezes itself in happiness. Wonwoo should laugh more. Wonwoo should laugh at him more.

There's a momentary silence that Mingyu feels more than hears before Wonwoo’s lips wrap around his next words. 

“You’re very sweet.” 

His lifeline goes flat. 

“Uhm.” 

Wonwoo blinks rapidly, seemingly shocked himself, “Uhm,” he parrots back. 

A jungle erupts in Mingyu’s chest, hot and humid, immeasurably loud and silent at the same time. His head dips down, ripe with fluster, and he quickly begins fussing again with band aids, lest the effects of his words become noticeable.

Wonwoo stays silent throughout for the rest of the procedure, something Mingyu’s glad for with the majority of his brain bits freaking the flip out. He wouldn’t be sure what stupid response he’d vomit out if prompted.

Part of him is self-scolding. He’s not supposed to get caught up like this, he knows that, he should know that. But, the other part?

Nuts. 

Only a few of the scratches need to be covered now, and with Wonwoo’s clearly bountiful stock of first aid material, Mingyu has to settle for using a few of those kiddie, colourful cartoon band aids. The fox one is hilarious in a way. 

Wonwoo’s a teacher. He must just carry them around for any scenario, Mingyu muses to himself, catching an imperceptible smile before it tugs on his lips.

“Done,” he lifts his hands away, standing back up. With the tiny size of the bathroom, there’s only so much space he can shuffle backwards to until he’s bumping into the towel rack. 

Wonwoo lifts his forearms up to inspect his quick, albeit clumsy handiwork. He looks so small, the thought jumps at Mingyu, which is sort of amusing to him, sort of something else. The way he sits, with his knees knocked together and his elbows crowded in so that his shoulders hunched, was a contrast to the height he stood up to, the broad width of his backside and just how terrifyingly stern he knew he could be. 

Wonwoo rubs at one of the kiddie band aids, finding it humorous. There’s the slightest suggestion of his scrunched nose, sweet and faint. 

“Thanks,” he finally says, a smile tucked away.

The ride to the vet is kind of entertaining. Clawdia is their perpetual moodmaker, her displeasure expressed in nonstop, rumbling caterwauls and hisses like a nonstop radio station of insomnia-inducing noises. Mingyu spends half the ride sleepily giggling and cooing in sympathy. 

They’d rushed to get out the apartment, for Clawdia’s sake, leaving Mingyu to barely be able to get dressed, much less calm his bed hair down. Further to that, Wonwoo didn’t apply a layer of his SPF 100 ( Special Formula: Vampire and other sunlight-sensitive creatures of the night) and in the two minute exposure of getting down to the car, his cheeks and neck had turned a faint shade of red. 

They must look like some pair, walking into the waiting room. Mingyu with his bedhead and vibrating cat in his arms, and a red-faced Wonwoo with Mingyu’s jacket thrown over his head for the forty-second carpark crossing. 

“You should invest in an umbrella,” Mingyu says once Wonwoo walks over from the reception to the seating.

It’s a harpy behind the desk and from this distance Mingyu has no idea how she manages to type so fast nor even pick up the phone with just her talons. He’s under the distinct impression that she can eavesdrop just perfectly fine, though. 

Wonwoo hands him back his jacket. His ears are still red and Mingyu considers asking if he could close the blinds. 

“I usually keep one in the car,” he murmurs, sitting himself down beside him, sighing, “but Seokmin borrowed it last time and he never gave it back.”

“Hate to see you in the Summer,” Mingyu says, the idea making him snicker. It would be nice to imagine Wonwoo in nothing but swimming trunks. Not that it is. Because he isn’t. Not like it’ll ever happen anyway, or anything. 

His words make Wonwoo groan, face wrinkling with a dour expression to a haunting memory. “Once Soonyoung tried to take us to the beach and on the hottest day of the year, no less. I didn’t leave my house for 2 months.”

“What about work? Did the sun fry you up that bad?”

Wonwoo snorts, “No, silly. Two words: school holidays. Best occupational perk.”

Mingyu hates how he flushes a little at the pet name.

“So,” he clears his throat, “why teaching? I mean, you’re clearly made for the job but what made you, you know, pick it?”

“Made for it?” Wonwoo looks a little flabbergasted, “Care to elaborate?”

Oh nuts. 

“I mean, you’re like super nice. And patient. And your students are lucky to have a teach with those, you know, that hardly anyone can understand,  _ empathise  _ with. Besides, with those glasses you must be like crazy smart.” 

Wonwoo gingerly touches the frames of spectacles, staring down at the floor with his praise. 

“You flatter me,” he shakes his head, amused, “I’m actually a mess, I just got good at pretending. I actually stumbled into it. The supply of Supernatural math teachers, you wouldn’t believe, is incredibly low,” a sweet chuckle leaves his lips, “Seokmin pulled a few strings to get me a temp unofficial position for a bit and I just,” he punctuates with a shrug, “fell into it. Nothing special.”

It kills a part of Mingyu to see Wonwoo uncertain of himself. He wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into that pretty head of his. 

“What about you?”

“Hm?” Mingyu blinks.

“Why the SRF?"

Mingyu picks at the fabric of his pants, the room suddenly too hot, “The reason I chose the force is very lame. You’ll think I’m super uncool.”

“Too late, I’m afraid,” Wonwoo simpers.

Mingyu shrugs with a single shoulder, “It’s selfish. I just, uh, I don’t know, wanted to feel apart of something big and important. Being from a small town and dysfunctional family, who are still sort of against it, I just wanted to sort of get out and find a part of me I could like. I guess.”

He drops his gaze downwards his lap, watches the subdued light ghost against his skin and how it turns it ashy. It’s strange. Instead of a confessional weight slipping off of him, it feels like he’d swallowed a thick pill instead. 

“There’s a lot about you that — A lot to like, about you, I mean.” 

Mingyu looks up to meet Wonwoo’s eyes. It’s funny, right now they’re a beautiful brown. 

“That sounded really lame,” Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose, then, looking up, “but I mean it, Mingyu. You’re weird and earnest and kind of goofy, but back then...In the bathroom, I meant what I said.”

It looks like it’s physically paining Wonwoo to admit this, and while his voice has the consistency of a watery sauce, it’s those damn brown eyes, rich with conviction that pours through his body. 

Mingyu can’t help it, he laughs. “Thanks, hyung.”

Wonwoo smiles back, gentle but with an air of something else. 

A final air of peace settling atop Mingyu, separate from the cacophony of his morning. Clawdia has settled down, having finally exhausted herself into a catatonic state. The room is rather warm and the morning light disperses into squares across the blue linoleum, across the length of Mingyu’s arm and onto colourful brochures of dental protection and pet food. There’s a slightly degrading advertisement of werewolf heartworm medication that has Mingyu frowning a little.

There’s a few other owners dispersed across the waiting area. A man with a golden parrot. A sentient guinea pig, who’s a sorcerer’s familiar by the looks of its heated conversation with their master. A three-headed doberman all with cones, one head asleep and hanging like a pendulum, the other two vying for the attention of their owner. 

Mingyu should probably ask Wonwoo just how much housecat cat Clawdia actually is. 

“Is she asleep?” Wonwoo leans over, peering into the cage. She must be, since he sighs with relief.

Mingyu smiles. There’s no particular reason. He just feels happy. Warm. 

“Okay, game plan.”

Mingyu swallows.

+

“Wow, who tried to murder you?”

Ever their sardonic office admin, Seungkwan’s eyes re-enact the mechanics of an elevator, up and down the scratches all over Mingyu’s arms as if they were a personal offence. He’s now sporting the same cartoon band aids as Wonwoo, which is doing lasting impressions on his presence if the snickering school children, double-taking commuters, and bright-eyed Hansol indicated anything. 

This is the second time in a few months he’d been bandaged up, to boot.

Mingyu waves the manila folder in his hands in dismissal before tucking it back under his arm. Some reports of their previous escaped murderer, the non-feline cause of his previous injuries, thick with recorded testimonies and eye witnesses. His rudimentary lunchtime reading.

“Roommate’s cat,” he clarifies, “At this point I’m kinda convinced it’s not just cat.” 

He and Seungkwan hadn’t really talked much at all, but with gradual psychological insistence, at no doubt to Seungkwan’s alpha-male social expansion mindset, their sparse exchanges were becoming more and more like actual, friendly banter. He wasn’t much younger than him but in every way he was more coordinated in personality; louder, brighter and way more encompassing to his initial conversational incompetence than Mingyu himself was to his forwardness.

“Oh, your vampire roommate? Wonwoo, right?”

Taken back at Seungkwan’s awareness, Mingyu quirks his brow in question.

Seungkwan turns coy, nostrils flaring as he covers his mouth with a scandalous hand. 

“Bullpen gossip hasn’t reached your ears yet, I see.” 

Mingyu must’ve swallowed an army of ants with the way panic crawls up his throat. 

“Sources tell many a tale of a vampire and a vampire officer,” Seungkwan continues, hands clasped with what Mingyu feels like victory, as if he had prayed all this time to be the one to drop this on him, “who were  _ roommates _ .”

Mingyu opens his mouth to protest, but Seungkwan thrusts an open palm out first.

“Before you ruin everything with your realism, just let me down quickly — did you actually lace his pizza with garlic? You can tell me the truth I’m not legally able to make an arrest. We can make a blood pact, even.” 

“No?? what the fuck?”

“A soul oath?” 

“Seungkwan, I would never attempt murder,” he hisses. He sends a furtive glance over his shoulders, grateful for it being mostly empty during lunchtime. Minghao in the far corner, however, definitely looks like he knows what’s going on. Which, somehow, is his usual expression. 

“Ah,” his friend taps the tip of his nose, “You’d  _ get away  _ with it instead, right?”

Mingyu groans.

“This is so workplace inappropriate.”

Seungkwan hums, leaning back into his chair with too much carefreeness for an underpaid government worker in pinstripe pants. 

“Regardless,” he scoots to the side on his wheeled chair, grabbing his adjacent deskmate’s and rolling it over, “Sit. Let me be your armchair therapist for the next…” he glances at the communal clock, “12 minutes.” 

“There’s nothing to say,” he grumbles but sits down anyway, backwards on the chair so that he could place his still stinging arms on the backrest. He absently scratches one the bandaids, the fox one. 

“Tell me, Kim Mingyu, what has un-sequestered your sequestered heart?” 

Mingyu stares, “What?” 

Seungkwan huffs, a bit of his fringe flying up, “What’s up lover boy?” he drawls, “Who’s got you grinning like a banshee at your phone during your tax-payer funded hours? Who’s finally gotten you to crawl out of your little country bumpkin pumpkin?” 

It’s obvious that he wants Mingyu to elaborate on his relationship with Wonwoo, or whatever the fuck about pumpkins. That’s all fine and dandy with him. It’s that lewd little connotation that’s following Seungkwan’s devious brow twitching, however, that has Mingyu’s face growing hot. 

But fuck as if he’s going to willingly walk into that carnival fun house. Seungkwan could talk him in rollercoaster loops and hypnotise him into thinking he had deeply suppressed kinks, convert him to a flat-earthed, one-reality theorist. 

“Oh, come on!” Seungkwan crosses his arms across his chest, “Wonwoo hyung wouldn’t say shit about you, now you're gonna give me the silent treatment too?” 

“You know Wonwoo? You  _ gossip  _ with him?” 

“Pshh,” If he rolled his eyes any higher, Seungkwan's eyes could pierce the heavens, “trying to squeeze info out of him is like convincing a pile sand to turn back into a rock. Seriously, hoarding all this important information from his friend.” 

Mingyu’s dumbstruck, “Is he just pals with everyone in the precinct?” 

“Duh no, Mingyu. It's this concept of mutual circles,” but then Seungkwan ponders for a second, “which does seem to be half the precinct.”

Mingyu’s not wasting his lunch break this. 

“Wait, don’t go!” Seungkwan snatches his sleeves, shockingly with the reflexes of someone who shouldn’t be delegated to a desk job, “it was a genuine question.”

Mingyu shakes him off, huffing, “What question? Why do you talk in circles so much?”

“Oh, you poor, stupid Mingyu.”

“Thanks,” he drawls. It’s not like he’s in the top tiers of number of arrests this year or anything. Totally not like he’d bested a few academy records or anything. Not like he can solve a rubix cube in 2 minutes or anything, “enlighten me on my stupidity.”

Seungkwan face pinches in exasperation turning him into a blonde-haired pink lemon, “The fact Wonwoo hyung has a such a fat crush on you is so obvious, I can physically feel my mind collapsing that you, a fucking detective, haven’t figured it out yet.”

Mingyu, who had stood up with his feet shifted away from his chair in order to escape, pauses and reverses the action, re-shifting back to face Seungkwan but still refusing to sit down. He’s been here before. Like a fly cocooned in a web, ensnared in his spider senses for chaos. 

“Hear me out,” his friend begins, palms open, no weapons concealed.

Mingyu slowly lowers himself back down to sit.

“Exhibit A,” Seungkwan holds a finger up, “Wonwoo has only ever had 3 things he’s cared about: math, English and cats. Now, he can hold any conversation  _ ever  _ deviated from his narrow, mind-numbing expertise,” and then, in a counterintuitively high-pitched demonstration, “ _ Oh, are you cooking Seungkwan, did you know Mingyu can cook, Seungkwan? Mingyu watches TV too, did you know that, Seungkwan? Hey Seungkwan, Ming— _ ”

Mingyu opens his mouth but he doesn’t even get to spare a breath.

“Exhibit B,” Seungkwan holds up his second finger, “I’m pretty sure he wants to suck your dick. I saw you two at Soonyoung and Seokmin’s, I know what runs through Jeon Wonwoo’s sweet, little melon.”

Mingyu closes his mouth. Tight. 

“Exhibit C,” the third lifts up, voice lofty, “It’s my gut feeling. So I know I  _ must  _ be right.”

Mingyu closes his eyes. 

“And finally, exhibit D,” the fourth and final finger ascends, “I totally know about what you two are doing and I know Wonwoo hyung better than you and there is no  _ way  _ that prude would being going this close to your —” 

“Seungkwan,” he interjects, headache forthcoming, “you’re spending too many tax-payer funded hours daydreaming.”

“I'm right and you know I know you know it.” 

Mingyu holds up his hands to signal him to stop, “A, I’ve heard Wonwoo discuss plenty of things outside of math and cats. B, what happened at the housewarming was the antithesis of dick-sucking. C, you’re probably just hungry since we’re skipping lunch right now. And D, I don’t know how you know about that and I’m sure as hell Wonwoo would never tell you something like that because he is, apparently, prudish. Which means he  _ won’t  _ want… to suck.” 

Seungkwan looks like he wants to scream. 

+

No credit to Seungkwan’s great faith in him, Mingyu  _ does  _ think about it. Against his will, of course.

The usual rhythm of the train does little to soothe his overworking brain and being sardined in the rush hour crowd, between some high schoolers with no volume control, and a unperturbed mother of a howling baby is doing wonders to his brain-pain levels. 

There’s no real, undebatable evidence that Wonwoo has displayed any romantic affections whatsoever. He’s just a shy guy. Who doesn’t get flustered at any sort of intimacy, or ugly, nasty acknowledgment of emotions?

Mingyu smile to himself. Exactly. Seungkwan doesn’t know what he’s bullshitting. His mouth is a toilet. 

Nevermind, his brain suddenly betrays, that that could allude to something bigger. That when Mingyu catches the tailends of Wonwoo’s glances, or sees him linger a heartbeat too long, hesitant with his words, it might be about something mutual, something that makes his heart shake as much as Mingyu’s own.

If by some fat chance of fate that Wonwoo really does spam his conversations with Seungkwan about  _ him _ , what assorted chocolate box of a mess could be opened there has him starting to sweat. 

That maybe, just maybe, if Wonwoo did like him back, his heart might drop to his stomach and erupt from its cocoon into a wildly beating, metamorphosed monster. 

His heart is starting to race. A few curious passengers who can hear it glance at him. 

Wonwoo’s part vampire, there’s little reason he’d be interested in Mingyu. Even if he weren’t, Mingyu’s still shouldering a lot of that baggage, that awful, stupid baggage that no one in their right minds would deal with. 

He can’t — shouldn’t — make a mistake like this. 

It’s only when Mingyu flicks on the kitchen light does Wonwoo realise he’s home. He jumps, hand clutching his chest as he swivels around, wild-eyed, to Mingyu standing awkwardly at the doorway. Clawdia leaps from his lap, padding away. 

Mingyu doesn’t know if he should hope or not that Wonwoo was waiting for him. 

“Hey,” he calls out softly. His keys hit the kitchen bench. His eyes stray everywhere but to where they want to go. 

“Hey,” Wonwoo replies, even softer. He’s perched on a barstool, knees together and his hands clasped, fingers sliding around. 

“Why were you sitting in the dark?”

Wonwoo shrugs but Mingyu can spot the noticeable flush creeping up his neck.

“Light, dark, makes no difference to me,” he then clears his throat, “Can I ask you something?”

Mingyu pulls out another barstool, sitting himself down. Something unpleasant prickles his neck. 

A long time ago, back before memories were solid, somewhere further, someplace darker, he had wandered out into the depths of a forest, like a hatchling pulled into the ocean. He’d passed through the night alone, the fear of something he could not comprehend had hung heavy, pressed against his chest like a shallow-breathed ghost.

Right now, Mingyu can feel a part of that memory, that ghostly palm just against his heart. Fear, uncertainty. A hundred stupid worries pass through him. That Wonwoo had some secret, that he was going to confess, that he somehow  _ knew—  _

“Do you still,” A small breath leaves Wonwoo lips, “Are you still disgusted by me?”

Mingyu stills.

“ _ What? _ ” 

“When we started our...arrangement,” Wonwoo grips his fingers, words falling out of him as if afraid to let Mingyu speak, “We agreed just once and that was fine with me, absolutely. I didn't  _ want  _ to make you go through a feeding more than necessary but then I  _ did  _ do that, again and again and I'm so selfish and a coward, I was too afraid at that point, up until now, to ask if you...are okay with it?” 

His heartbeat, some drumbeat echo in his ears, dies down with his growing confusion. They hadn’t gone through a feeding since the time he almost passed out, which was like a whole week ago. Mingyu squints at Wonwoo.

“Why wouldn't I be okay with it?”

Wonwoo’s own face slackens slightly. 

“I basically forced you to go through all of that. You, you were obviously really uncomfortable. And we can stop, forever, if you want. Right now.”

“If it's better this way, I'm fine if you want to keep feeding off of me. I really don't mind.” 

Mingyu feels like he’s missing something here. Like he’s going two at a time down a staircase and he’s misstepped into emptiness. 

“But, but aren’t you grossed out? I mean, I’m assuming from your reaction when Seokmin told you…”

“Told me what?”

Wonwoo looks a breath away from keeling over, his lips tight and his eyebrows scrunched. 

“He outed me, by accident. My ex- _ boyfriend?  _ You were really shocked. And then, with the incident, you told me not to numb the pain despite how bad it is so, naturally I assumed that...”

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

“Just, all of this happened so fast and we never got to talk about it really,” Wonwoo continues, red faced with a vulnerability flashing back into his eyes, “I just assumed that you were too nice or it was too awkward to bring up, and I was being too pushy and stringing you along. Or something like that?”

Mingyu scratches his cheek. Embarrassment creeps up his neck and he laughs ruefully, “I was just kind of surprised about the werewolf part. The other part never really occurred to me. Right until now.”

Bewilderment plasters across Wonwoo’s face, and it’s doing no favours to Mingyu’s sudden doubt as a credible detective. But then it melts, with a gradualness, like butter in the sun, to something that Mingyu swears might be fondness.

“That’s,” Wonwoo bites his bottom lip, one sharp fang digging into the redness, “so like you.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

Wonwoo laughs. A bright, mellow sound that dances around the air and Mingyu eases back into his seat, blinking rapidly. The pressure is back, but it’s so much sweeter pressed against the back of his teeth.

Yet there’s a blueness, leeching its way into his heartspace when realises that Wonwoo had all these things to fear about himself, and that he had feared Mingyu in secret and in silence for this long.

Without thinking, he leans over and clasps one of Wonwoo’s hands between his own. Wonwoo jerks in shock.

“I’m sorry. For making you worry.”

Wonwoo blinks, “It’s — it’s alright.”

“I mean it, hyung,” his eyes glance down to the benchtop and to the murky reflection of their clasped hands. He feels like an idiot, “I feel like an idiot. For making you worry.”

Wonwoo chuckles, “I should be the one saying sorry, for still thinking badly of you.” 

Mingyu huffs, “All we seem to do is apologise to each other.” 

Wonwoo's eyebrows pinch upwards and it's adorable, like a concerned little cat glancing upwards. Mingyu could just drop to the floor. 

“Let's, let's just be us. Unforgivably ourselves.” 

Wonwoo snorts, a hand raised to cover his laugh, “What does that even mean?” 

Mingyu shrugs, tilting his head, “Fuck if I know.”

“You know, you remind me a little of my brother.”

Okay. Ouch.

“How so?” 

Wonwoo shrugs, a fondness falling over his expression, “We’re really close, but really different. Bohyuk, he…” he starts chuckling, “he always means well but he’s thinks with his feet more than his head. Used to get into fights after school from the dumbest misunderstandings.”

“Brawls? About what?”

That pulls out a twisted smile from Wonwoo, white teeth grimacing, “He’s very protective of his family, especially of his lame older brother,” he laughs, ruffling his hair, “We were walking news in the schoolyard, you know, people say a lot of things. Talk as if they know things.”

Mingyu fidgets in his seat. 

“I wish I could’ve been more,” he waves his hand around, catching his thoughts in the air, “Stronger.”

“Do you regret it? I mean, do you wish things were…?” 

Wonwoo shakes his head, “Nah. I’ve never seen the point in regretting things I couldn’t change.”

Mingyu bites his lips, “You sound like a fine older brother to me.”

That makes Wonwoo duck his eyes down, smiling to himself. He hums a little, planting his elbow on the tabletop and resting his chin onto his palm, suddenly pensive. 

He’s so handsome like this, Mingyu’s heart whispers to him, the striking silhouette he creates, the dashing lines of shadow and light that fall on him. 

“Family is everything to me,” he starts slowly, “as a kid, I lent on them for everything, and my parents give everything their all because they know how dysfunctional, how short-lasting it’ll be... I’m lucky, in a weird, ironic way,” he scrunches his nose. Then, he turns to look at Mingyu, “It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

There’s a heavy sensation beginning to press right against Mingyu’s chest. He tries to laugh it off, but the gravity of his words hit the air with the weight of stones, “Nah, parents are supposed to love you. You and your brother probably got twice the standard.”

“You can’t quantify parental love, Gyu.”

“Then how can people get less than others, but not more?” 

“Well,” Wonwoo pauses, waiting for his thoughts to find him, “you can’t ask for too much, can you?” 

“Yeah,” Mingyu huffs, “you can’t.”

“But,” Wonwoo levels him with a cautiously unreadable look, lips moving slowly, “I think it’s an unfair request to have to make.”

Pragmatic, Mingyu’s starting to realise, Wonwoo was pragmatic in the way that weeds grew in sidewalk cracks, that the ocean was lulled by the moon, that fabric was time and was space and was the comfort that wrapped around bodies. The way Mingyu felt when he saw Wonwoo’s gentle eyes curved together with his lips. Timeless. Spaceless.

He smiles and shrugs, “You’re not wrong.”

+

Midway through a case file, Mingyu's cellphone starts buzzing. Which makes Mingyu stop. Which makes the whole bullpen stop. 

Seungcheol and Jihoon are accounted for, the whole team is accounted for, and as tragic as it is to admit, there is not a single other soul Mingyu can think of that has his number and would call him other than— 

“Wonwoo hyung?” 

There's only the faint crackle of the connection that responds for a few seconds, which has Mingyu frowning, concern forming in his gut. 

“Hyung?” 

“Y-yeah?” Wonwoo finally responds.

“Is there a reason you're calling…?” 

“Yes. Sorry. Uhm, can you do me a favour?” 

“Of course, hyung.” 

In his peripheral, Seungkwan mouths back an  _ Of course, hyung  _ with batting eyelashes. Mingyu throws a crushed soda can at him. Detergent resistant cherry coke flavour. 

“I need you to run back to the apartment. I have this whole stack of graded assignments and I just, uh, forgot to bring them, I guess,” Wonwoo laughs a little admonishingly on the other end and Mingyu can just picture the hand clasped to his forehead, eyes closed in his own disbelief, “I know it’s a hassle but I promised my students, and they need the feedback, it’s just all—“

“Hyung, relax, I’m on my way.”

Wonwoo laughs again, breathy and short and wry, that has Mingyu’s chest fluttering. “Thanks, Mingyu. Really.”

If Mingyu remembers correctly, the school down beside the Fairies Reserve is one of the city’s oldest Supernatural schools. Old, as in before the Trans-Dimensional Reconciliation, as in, long before human records have managed to touch it, surrounded by Dark woods and Black lagoons and generally unfavoured by human parents for human children. 

They have all sorts of fun curricular; potion making as a home ec elective, planetary reading and divination, magical botany, what most education boards refuse to integrate nor recognise as requirements. Pity, Mingyu thinks, watching the flurry of movement of a water polo tournament against a lagoon monster. 

Jihoon’s waiting in his car that’s parked out the main gates — iron and black, a classic — but Mingyu’s not in too much of a hurry when he sees him pull out a sudoku book and slip on his spectacles. Another classic. 

He enters through to the reception with the massive stack of papers in his arms, and explains his situation to the sunglassed gorgon behind the desk. It’s an effort not to stare at all the snakes on her, their little forked tongues flickering out to taste the air in their dozens. 

She tells him he’d been expected, gives him a visitors pass, and flashes him with a sharp, knowing smile as some ridiculously complex directions slither out from her.

The school is  _ big _ . Some fancy gothic castle and certified macabre nightmare fuel for Mingyu to be chased down in the weeks to come. 

He goes through corners on corners, spiralling staircases, grand staircases; there are turrets and dungeons and wooden double-doors plated with silver and embossed with gold. There’s a trophy case he passes with gleaming brasses, labelled for kelpie polo tournaments and gnome throwing records and competitive golem chess. Every window tinted for UV blockage. Those damn glowing mushrooms potted on the walls like lanterns. One corridor just a long, blanketing fish tank that flurried with storms of blue and yellow, luminescent with electric eels. A gorgon’s portrait of following eyes, green and serpentine. 

The immensity of everything, the size, the grandeur, the things he’d never gotten to see, never got to have, almost makes Mingyu lose himself. 

His head starts to ache as if someone was pressing their thumb into his skull and the bone had softened into a dough. Which is why he doesn’t even notice Wonwoo’s face comes peeking out of an opening door. 

“Mingyu!”

He squawks, and drops all the papers in his hands. 

In front of Wonwoo. And his whole class. Great. 

He drops down, grabbing and shoving them back into a stack, the familiar heat of mortification crawling onto his cheeks. Wonwoo's class is murmuring and Mingyu can just feel the dozens of eyes trained on him, words beginning to buzz like insects, crawling for gossip as Wonwoo squats down to help. 

“I’m so sorry, hyung,” he whispers, “I just— I,” he gawks like a goldfish, lips making silent noises and thoughts turning to bubbles that burst when they hit the tongue.

“Mingyu, it's okay,” Wonwoo laughs, taking the last sheafs of paper from him. 

It’s not like Mingyu’s never seen him styled up or right before he left for work. It’s just. Sometimes he pairs his eyes with brain function. And dick function.

“You look...” 

“Hm?” There's a prompting look on Wonwoo's face and it makes Mingyu regret his big mouth. 

“It's nothing,” he quickly amends. 

“Mingyu—” 

“Cool school,” he interjects, standing up. Wonwoo follows, slower, “could I get a tour some day?” 

He punches out a charming smile, nonchalant, casual. Wonwoo seems amused, but he doesn’t prod further.

“Of course.” 

Wonwoo's red eyes soften like the sun to sunset, and Mingyu's heart just might have tripped off its ledge, flopping around the walls of his chest like a drowning fish. 

Suddenly looking shy, Wonwoo drops his gaze to the floor, papers clutched tightly in his fingers. “Thank you for coming, Gyu.” 

“No problem,” he stutters, heartbeat loud, “any time for you.” 

“Mr. Jeon—” a pubescent voice cuts in from the classroom, “who’s  _ that _ ?”

A chorus chimes in of agreement with similar, lilting questions that has Mingyu sweating with the attention.  _ Teenagers _ . 

“Uhm. I should leave.”

Wonwoo just grins at his bemused face.

It's only after they nod and say farewell and Mingyu’s forced to awkwardly wave and say hi to an adolescent english class — a departure he swears Wonwoo is prolonging — with him finally down the stairwells and out the main doors, through the front gardens, does Mingyu stop walking and finally accept the breakdown chasing his heels. 

Wonwoo in his gold spectacles, Wonwoo in his fancy, professional,  _ cute  _ yellow tie, styled up hair and black slacks, Wonwoo all walking hot teacher alert, walking enamourment, walking dream and all footsteps across Mingyu’s pathetic heart. 

He’s going to keel over. 

“The shit were you doing back there?” Jihoon says once he’s back at the car, referring to Mingyu five seconds ago, hunched down behind a bush of thorns, “gardening?”

The passenger door closes behind him with a click. 

“Just drive, hyung.”

Call it cause and effect, but Mingyu doesn’t like surprises. Cautious at best, he’s learnt that there are no good ones, that there’s nothing foreshadowment can’t improve. Birthdays surprises, unscheduled and inconvenient. Exam results, never anticipated. Misfortune, never subtly let down. 

When his parents’ left that particular morning all those years ago, Mingyu had believed himself to be asleep, stuck in a lucid loop that lifted his limbs for him, spoke his words for him, pushed his tears out for him. 

It was surprising, for everyone. And in its wake, he never parted from the feeling. 

“Wonwoo hyung?” It’s the second time Wonwoo has called him today, the trip to his school still disorientating in his head and he has to stop mid-step on the stairwell to recalibrate. “I’m almost home, is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I think,” Wonwoo’s tinny phone voice fumbles, dropping to whisper, “I mean, your grandparents are here. At least, I think so…”

Mingyu’s heart slams into his chest, “My grandparents?”

“Please don’t tell me I just invited two senile crooks into my house.”

“Uh, no, I hope not, uhm. God. Shit. Hyung, just,” he starts going up the stairs two at a time, “Is one of them a wolf and the other a human?”

“Yeah…”

“And has the wolf one been glaring at you the whole time?”

“Uhm, it’s not the friendliest response I’ve had.”

Fuck, Mingyu hates surprises. “Yeah, that’s my grandfather.”

“Mingyu, what…?”

Mingyu sighs, feeling the life just leech out of his body, “I’m two seconds away from the door just, hold out and I’ll explain later.” 

The mood is chilling when Mingyu walks in. Even if there were half the amount of unapproved grandfather variables in this situation, Mingyu wouldn’t have expected any less. He was a stern man, probably left the womb with the sentimentality of a stone, and Mingyu had left with barely half a blessing almost a whole year ago.

But living with, having relations, with a vampire? 

He sets his keys down on the kitchen bench top, the clang it makes rippling like a pebble dropped in a pool. “Hi, grandad. Jisun,” he nods at his human step-grandmother, who returns the greeting with a tight lipped, nevertheless warm-eyed smile. His grandfather just looks at him with the same stern unreadability that Mingyu has been lost to his whole life. 

“I see you’ve met Wonwoo hyung.”

Wonwoo stretches the tightest smile from where he’s hovering in front of the kitchen bench. 

His grandfather stands and he and Wonwoo flinch at the same time. 

“I'd prefer to speak to you in private.”

Mingyu, all of them, know it's formalities sake, that Wonwoo can undoubtedly hear every word with the thinness of his walls. Some salt of irony to the icy waters they're standing in.

It's not the chill, however, it's the panic that has Mingyu rooted to the floorboards. He loves his grandfather, but this is Wonwoo. He’s beginning to feel it, the wrenching pull of his loyalties wrung in opposite ways that has him queasy, hands clammy. 

Wonwoo’s looking at him, expression guarded just like the first time they met. Mingyu’s too afraid to look at his grandfather. 

He hasn't felt this way in a long time. 

“Mingyu, go,” it's Jisun who speaks. She's a rigid woman herself, and her voice stings like the slap of a cane, “Stalling won't save you.” 

He turns back to Wonwoo. He's staring at the floorboards, mouth still twisted with disbelief, confusion and barely concealed irritation. But when their eyes meet, he softens by just a fraction and nods. 

The moment Mingyu closes the door behind him, he braces. 

“I’ve made plenty of adjustments to this world, but no family of mine is going to live with a  _ halfling  _ vampire,” his grandfather's yellow eyes turn to him. Even in his age, his aching stature, his own unforgivable defiances, there’s a disdain stained in him that runs older than Mingyu’s comprehension. 

Something he sees no point in comprehending. 

His teeth ache with the effort to keep his voice civil.

“Why are you here?”

His grandfather sighs, an ever so slight twitch to the brow. “We came to visit. It’s been almost a year, obviously. We contacted your...workplace when we saw your place gone, and were told to come here,” he sighs again, “I don’t know what you see in this place.”

As a child, his grandfather spoke little of their family. It didn’t bother Mingyu, at least until he thought, daydreamed, asked about it. He rarely did since he’d rarely be answered to, but on the rare slips of days when the ache of old mistakes didn’t reach so far and the night air was crisp and the moon too bright to hide, Mingyu would be indulged.

But it was hard then and it is hard still for him to find attachment to something that has only ever left a sour taste in his mouth. 

Mingyu casts a look to the line of light emitted from the doorway, “At least I don’t feel so  _ suffocated _ in the city.”

“City or not, to think you’ve gotten yourself into this—” his hands, gnarled and roughened and worn, that Mingyu had felt gripped on his shoulders in comfort, in solace, in disappointment, curl into a fist, “lifestyle of becoming a dog to the government and fraternising with vampires—” 

“Things are  _ different _ ,” he knows it’s all slipping, all loose knots, “those stories you told me when I was kid, they’re nothing like now.”

“Mingyu,” a low growl weaves through his grandfather’s words, “There’s no chance you could even comprehend the history, the strife between us and them. I’ve made many exceptions for you. For this new world.”

“Yet it seems you still can’t move on from anything,” he bites.

“The past doesn’t change.”

“Maybe because you’re refusing to let it,” Mingyu squeezes his eyes shut, runs a hand down his face, “I understand this is not, not something you’re used to. But this is how it is. Wonwoo hyung is my friend, and that’s something that won’t change either.”

What Mingyu likes to pretend was many, many years ago, he was alone. That strange boy in the field who was a wolf without the wolf, with no pack, no claim, no loyalties. Sent to live with his expelled kin in the far country, between the dips of looming, blue mountains and soundless black forests; Mingyu had felt little reason to be wanted. 

His grandfather was hard in love and harder to love, and maybe, Mingyu thinks, it was because he was his own reflection in front of him. Maybe a curse, fitting into his footsteps. 

But here, here is different. 

“No wolf in you. No human in you,” his grandfather’s voice sounds impossibly hollow, like old wood carved out grain by grain.

Mingyu lets him leave the room with the last word. 

The apartment is empty when Mingyu finally walks out of his room. The lights are off. Despite what Wonwoo had said, by now he knows it’s more a comfort thing than anything else. He picks his way through what he can make out in the darkness draping over the table, the couch, the cat’s moving figure as she winds her way through to the opened balcony door. The curtains give way in a gentle breeze. Wonwoo’s frame leans against the railing.

He stops at the doorway, hovering behind the glass. It might be the sharp bite of cold air, but it’s terse, the way Wonwoo still hasn’t acknowledged him. Mingyu hadn’t lied per say, but the guilt clings tighter in his throat than the truth. 

Stalling won’t save him.

“Hey,” he steps out into the moonlight, letting his heartbeat turn calm.

Wonwoo straightens up and his head tilts a sliver to the side to watch him walk over. Like this, the redness in his eyes burn. “Hey,” he echoes back.

The railing feels like ice against his skin when he rests his arms on top of the metal. His bitten lips sting, raw in the wind. 

“You don’t have to apologise for anything,” Wonwoo’s fingers twist amongst themselves, “I just need you to explain. Everything.”

“Oh boy,” Mingyu tries for a laugh and it’s an awkward, ugly sound like a fork scratching a plate, but it pulls a tiny smile out of Wonwoo, so it’s okay. 

It’s not a secret. Childhoods aren’t secrets, they’re stories that hide in the way he talks and moves and whispers to himself in quiet thoughts.

It was a short story to Seungcheol and Jihoon. Concise and condensed; the family lineage, the pride of a pack, and his mother’s unwithheld horror when she learnt that she had birthed a runt. It was a surprise — they all are — when Mingyu came of age and within each passing moon he could not, not in dream, not in prayer, not in plea, be anything more than a human. 

His grandfather had been excommunicated years prior, had left to be with a human, and Mingyu was left to be in his care. He grew up. Left for the city. Entered the academy, entered the force, entered the SRF underneath the Supernatural Inclusion Act under extraordinarily unique circumstances. 

But to Wonwoo, Mingyu draws it out. The footnotes of his youth, before, in the shadows of trees and the scent of damp earth, the faint warmth of his mother before it turned cold, and after, in the silhouettes of a small town, the bruised knees and tall grass, how fast rumours buzzed in the heat of Summer, and how if he just smiled enough, laughed loud enough, everyone would forget it all and smile back.

It’s shame. A foundation so unmovable in him he doesn’t remember how to not look. It moves like water, slipping down into unfinished skeletons of what he could have had and what he could have loved, and it does hurt. It hurts in a way that having his blood drawn out can’t touch, it’s the slow, unfathomable sea losing its way into the soil. 

Wonwoo lets him talk uninterrupted. His carefully neutral expression softens, and their hands eventually find their way together. The warmth wraps around him until he relaxes. 

“Werewolf,” the word is round on Wonwoo’s lips as if testing it out, “I guess you never technically said you were human, huh?”

Relief colours through Mingyu at the sound of reassurance. A soundless laugh shakes his shoulder, “I guess so.”

“I get it, though,” They’re pressed at their shoulders and Wonwoo’s so close that Mingyu can see the shadows of his lashes and the wrinkles of his collar, “It sounds condescending, but I do get it, Mingyu.”

“I know you do,” he replies softly.

“I just…” Wonwoo’s hand tightens as he lets out a shaky sigh, “it’s stupid but I kind of feel like crying right now.”

Mingyu blinks, mouth parting. His heart fumbles over a beat. Wonwoo is refusing to look at him. So he laughs, a little breathless, and ducks his head, bumping their shoulders together to jostle him. 

“There’s nothing to cry about, Wonwoo.”

“I know, but I have feelings sometimes.”

Mingyu mellows down. He’s so sweet. He unclasps theirs hands so he can hook his arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder, squeezing him tight just once, enough to hear the small fractures, the eggshell cracks, so he doesn’t tempt himself anymore, before letting go. 

“I don’t get why…” Wonwoo looks up at him. It’s true, his eyes are faintly misty and his cheeks faintly flushed. It makes Mingyu’s gut twist, “Your grandfather, he left his family to be with a human, yet he’s so against us?” 

“His problems run deeper than what’s logical,” he sighs with his whole chest, bending down to rest his elbows on the railing, dropping his head, hands clasping into a vice, “it’s been eating him and his pride up for decades. He can’t pick his own loyalties,” he snorts.

“But he’s your only family,” Wonwoo reasons, “and I don’t think I should get in the way of that.”

Mingyu shakes his head, “I’ll keep talking to him. With him you need a lot of time. Besides, family is a loose term to me.”

“Oh?”

He shrugs, suddenly shy, “Seungcheol, Jihoon, the guys at the precinct. It’s probably just me, but I’ve never been so close with people like this before, you know? And, you know, if  _ you _ want…”

Wonwoo’s looking at him as if he’d just pulled down the moon, “Do you really think that about me?”

That Wonwoo is the most endearing, sweetest, earnest person he'll ever have the privilege of knowing? Fucking  _ yes _ . 

Mingyu ears burn, “Maybe.” 

Wonwoo’s own cheeks colour a little. Then he smiles. That little, soft smile he does with the gentlest rise of his lips. “Oh. That’s nice,” he coughs into his fist, “No I meant, uh—”

“I get it, hyung,” he feels like a teenager, all flushed and top-heavy and dizzy.

Wonwoo shakes his head, cheeks coloured darker. “No, I should say it. You, you’re someone who’s important to me too. You mean a lot to a lot of people. And I’m glad you happened.”

Mingyu doesn’t feel real in that moment, mesmerized at gradual way the words fill him from the crevice to crevice. He wonders if it should be possible to hurt so much for something that felt so close to bliss. 

His eyes soften. He doesn’t know what to say. 

It’s late. The sky is darker and Mingyu shivers, the day leaving him feeling only his bones and the thought of his bed lulls him like a siren song. Wonwoo, noticing, slips his hand around his wrist then and pulls him back into the apartment, sliding the glass and the world behind them with a soft  _ click _ . 

The night melts. It might be Wonwoo being lenient on him tonight or being too drained to care, but he lets Mingyu lean on him when they brush their teeth. He catches him eyeing their matching pair of sharp teeth in the mirror, Mingyu’s own shorter canines now carrying a sort of humour in them and his lazy, foamy smirk makes Wonwoo’s nose crinkle. 

And that’s all that matters. 

Wonwoo calls in sick for him the next morning. It’s a Friday, thankfully. Judging by whatever his morning-fogged brain can decipher from phone fuzz, however, Mingyu knows Seungcheol knows something’s up. But that’s fine too. 

Wonwoo jumps in fright when Mingyu walks unannounced into the kitchen.

“G’morn,” he slurs, before collapsing forward onto the couch. 

“Morning?” Wonwoo chokes, “How are you?”

He makes some unintelligible noises into a cushion. 

“What?” is his reply, laughed. 

“Cuff—”, he starts, then lifts his face up, “ee.”

“Alright, alright,” Wonwoo turns back around, placing his phone down, before making his way to the coffee jug. It’s nice, Mingyu thinks blearily, the way Wonwoo moves about. Slow, unassuming, sort of like snow.

It’s not too bad. Mingyu’s a little surprised at himself. He doesn’t feel as bad as he thought he would have the night before, when the exhaustion hit with the force of a train and he hadn’t had the energy to go through everything in his head. 

He feels untethered, a little grey, sort of like a soaked tea bag, but more than anything, he thinks as he watches Wonwoo approach him, hopeful of something brighter to come. 

“Here,” Towering over him now, Wonwoo motions at him with his hand, “sit up.” 

Mingyu blinks up at him and smiles a slow smile, before shooting a hand out to grab Wonwoo’s wrist and tug him closer. 

“Wh—!” Wonwoo quickly sets the mug down on the coffee table, “What are you doing?”

“Lie down with me. It’s like six in the morning.”

“It’s almost eight and I’m late for work, Mingyu.”

“No you’re not. You’re sick.” He tugs again, insistent. Borderline whining. 

Rolling his eyes, Wonwoo compromises by sitting down on the edge of the sofa but angled so Mingyu can still see his very unimpressed face. “I have to go soon.”

Mingyu rolls around so that he’s lying on his side and starts shaking Wonwoo’s wrist side-to-side, “You’ve contracted a terrible illness from your very, very sick roommate and now you have no choice but to stay at home.”

“You’re such a baby.”

“And you’re a liar. Come on, call in sick too.”

Wonwoo’s cheeks flush a little, “You heard that?”

Mingyu shrugs, biting the inside of his cheek, “You were going to tell me anyway. If I’m going to be home alone today, I don’t want just the cat.”

Wonwoo struggles internally.

“Yesterday was draining and I need emotional support, so please stay I need you?”

He’s expecting Wonwoo to call him a brat and ditch his emotionally sore ass, but it’s a pleasant thrill when Wonwoo turn flustered instead. Their hands just brush by the fingertips. It’s the best kind of happiness, he thinks, the best kind of bliss. He’s barely conscious, wants to sleep until noon, wants to spend the whole day together just in their pajamas, with takeout, with the cat. He wants Wonwoo. He wants him so badly his heart aches. 

When Wonwoo sighs and his eyebrows pull up, Mingyu’s mood sinks. The touch of his fingers disappear. 

“I’ll call in now, you big baby.”

Mingyu beams.

+

Saturday comes with a faithful reminder. 

Partway through a marathon of Mingyu’s guilty pleasure, fancy softcore baking competitions, Wonwoo begins to fidget. And fidget. And fidget. They’re two episodes away from the semi-finals, Spring themed macaron platters with edible flower garnishes, when Mingyu glances at him from the corner of his eyes and has a hunch begin to form. Tearing his eyes away from the sight of meringue and sifted almond flour, he nudges Wonwoo in the side with a finger. 

“What’s the matter?” 

Wonwoo doesn’t school his face quick enough. “Nothing.”

He snorts, and prods him again with more force, “Hyung.”

Wonwoo huffs, “Don’t  _ hyung  _ me.” His voice is edged like a blunt knife. Potent but fruitless.

“When was the last time you fed?” 

Lips pursed tight, Wonwoo glares at him. “It hasn’t been a month yet.”

“You get all wired up after a week now,” he points, one unimpressed brow quirked, “Don’t try to weasel out, hyung. If you need to feed, just tell me.”

Clearly, Wonwoo is uncomfortable at the notion of resuming what they’d stopped a while ago. On some level Mingyu can empathise, he was the close call itself, but he knows his own limits and he’s not made of fucking straw. Besides, he trusts Wonwoo. 

So he makes the choice for him. Wordlessly, he loops an arm around Wonwoo’s waist and tugs him flush against his side, rib to rib, thigh to thigh and smirks as he leans his head out to the side, baring his throat.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo chokes, eyes fixated on the exposed column, “this is serious, you blacked out last time. What if…”

With a good-natured eye roll, Mingyu pats his own chest, “I’m strong,” that gets him a scoff, “You can do it however you like. Numb it, don’t numb it. Make it quick, or don’t. I’ll be okay.”

But Wonwoo remains hesitant. Doesn’t budge, still stuck with his perpetual sad frown and Mingyu’s chest heaves with a sigh. Grabbing him by his thigh with an arm hooked beneath his knee, he manhandles him onto his lap, ignoring a surprised protest, and perches him atop his own thigh. 

Wonwoo looks like he’s on the brink of death. 

“If you die, I’m accusing you of being an accomplice to manslaughter.”

“Oh no, I hope they don’t lock me up,” he pinches his calf, “come on, hyung, let’s get it over with for your sake.”

If he's willingly going to suffer excruciating pain for the next five minutes, he might as well indulge in their position way Wonwoo feels against him. Solid, anchored, and with the same repressed thrill of leaning over a ledge, imagining the long, easy fall down. 

Again, Wonwoo huffs at him but he visibly relents, easier than Mingyu had anticipated.

“Tell me when it’s too much.”

“Aye, aye,” he pats him reassuringly on the waist, his heart starting to pick up, and Wonwoo gives him a look before sinking in. 

It hurts as much as it did the first time. Mingyu doesn’t want to bruise Wonwoo. He tries to keep his grip light but it’s difficult, has him exerting the effort in a diffused groan, clutching at his shirt until he thinks it might rip. 

But it’s only seconds later that he feels the fangs depart. It’s the strangest feeling, like his eyes opening while still in a dream, stars pressed behind his vision, unfocused, with the acute sensation of feeling like gravity had stopped. Mingyu’s brow is already in cold sweat and Wonwoo’s already sombre expression deepens as he wipes it for him with the back of his hand, breathing heavily. 

“Side effects,” Mingyu speaks before he can, “won’t bother me.”

Wonwoo bites his lip, “They bother  _ me _ .” 

Now what does that even mean? 

He shakes his head and with a palm on the back of Wonwoo’s neck, pulls him closer to his throat , “And your hangriness bothers me too, so just—”

Wonwoo's lips trace across his skin, hot. 

Mingyu grunts at the initial entry. It’s stars all over again but then, for split second, they flicker out, blinking and buzzing against blackness until they slowly begin to melt together. Softly, he breathes out, and curls his arm around Wonwoo’s small waist. He moves slowly so that his throat won’t be torn, shifts to rest his forehead on Wonwoo’s shoulder, shivering. 

He can somewhat ignore the pleasure, just barely, but it’s hard to focus on anything that isn’t the man in his arms. His body, his limbs, circled around him, his touch, his skin, the softness of his shirt, the folds of soft, thin cotton that brush against his cheek. The heat that pools down, the intense awareness, what he can and can’t ignore. The possibility, the maybe, the what-if. 

Then Wonwoo moves. Mingyu can't know if it's intentional but his knee brushes against his strained erection and it’s an effort to dilute his reaction into only a breathy intake. 

The possibility, the maybe, the what-if. Mingyu thinks he can taste the hunger that gnaws the other so carnally. 

Wonwoo finishes, a broad tongue licking down the expanse of his throat, catching the loose beads down to his collarbone and stopping just short of his stained shirt. 

“We forgot to take it off,” he murmurs, breathing heavy. 

Mingyu just hums, eyes downcast and still holding Wonwoo close to his chest as if he were his playing cards, his winning secret. Wonwoo's own arms have not let him go. 

Maybe it's just that, with the boiling over simmer in his gut, his breathlessness and the hum vibrating through his body, that when Wonwoo raises his head to look at him, Mingyu doesn't waste a stupid second to press his lips to the corner of his mouth. 

Wonwoo freezes, tensing. 

But then, before Mingyu can even panic, with a gradual melt, Wonwoo shifts his head and slots their lips together properly, deepening, sighing into it. His arms tighten around Mingyu's neck, pressing him closer as if it hurt to be away. 

It's more than anything Mingyu could have imagined, sinking into the dream. 

Wonwoo suddenly pulls back, his hooded eyes from before now round with horror, “My mouth is still bloody.” 

Mingyu barks out a laugh — fuck, he’s so cute — before he tugs him back and presses their foreheads together. Wonwoo smiles back, confused but breath fanning over his lips with his own incredulous grin. 

“What's so funny?” 

Mingyu latches onto his gaze, adores the red eyes peering into his. “I'm sort of nuts about you.”

Wonwoo laughs, “God, you have no idea.” 

Wonwoo sinks another kiss down onto him and he moves then, slow in a way that’s unassuming. He shifts further up onto his lap, plants himself firmly right where Mingyu’s painfully tented. His grip tightens against his hair. 

“Tease.”

Wonwoo huffs.

He doesn’t think he’ll survive it if Wonwoo granted him any of his wild dreams, but he won’t exactly mind either.

It doesn’t take him long to find out with strong palms and deft fingers that Wonwoo is a lazy kind of lover. The moment Mingyu’s lips plant against the column of throat, suckling, kissing, divulging the crazy pitter-patter in his chest, Wonwoo folds in on him, pliant and responsive only in short breaths and tiny, stubborn sounds. 

He lets Mingyu’s hands snake their way up his shirt and ride their way up his hips, his waist, his backside like a sail pulled plush by winds, carried by a force he can’t see, only feel. It’s fever against fever. Mingyu kisses his clavicle and Wonwoo’s whole body responds.

He’s not sure how far Wonwoo is trying to take this, whether he wants anything at all and it’s all just momentary forest fires or all just the mess in Mingyu’s head, foaming over with greed. 

Fingers tap beneath his chin and guide him to look up.

Wonwoo, taste of iron be damned, kisses the doubt right out of him, slow and long and hot as a kindled fire and the light in his beautiful eyes, Mingyu swears, flickers with its embers. 

Mingyu deliberately drags his hand up Wonwoo’s stomach, who’s too caught up in the movement of his lips to notice, and the fabric of his shirt bundles at the heel of his palm like a modest curtain. Yet Mingyu’s stunned enough to part their mouths by the sight of Wonwoo’s own erection on display, no modesty in the thinness of material.

“You’re staring.”

Wonwoo has always been confident, in his bad humour, in his kindness and now in his kisses too, but in front someone as easily starstruck, as simple as Mingyu, he turns a vulnerable cheek to him, red-eared. 

“I hope there’s no museum rule here?” Mingyu cocks his head to the side, trying to retrieve Wonwoo’s eyes back on him.

“What?”

“No touching, just looking?”

Wonwoo ducks his head forward in a laugh. His shoulders shake and Mingyu can feel the residual tremors in his thighs from where Wonwoo’s hands are gripped. Mingyu, infatuated with the sound, the sight, with every sense he has to experience this moment, places his hand over one of Wonwoo’s own. It goes limp and Mingyu takes it as permission for him to guide it, running it over his upper thigh and over his own untouched erection. 

He makes him palm him, hot with pressure. Can feel the tremor in Wonwoo’s hand that he knows isn’t from apprehension, and he bucks into the touch, watching Wonwoo watch him. 

Wonwoo whimpers. 

“No museums here.”

Mingyu wakes up to his lips pressed against Wonwoo's throat. A heaviness weighs down his head and he has to force open his eyes with a few lurid blinks before he can begin to make sense of everything. Sex. The bed. Post-sex nap on the bed. 

Judging by the bronze cast and blue shadows rolled out over the ceiling, the walls and the peaceful lull of Wonwoo's shoulder, it's dusk. 

Cautiously untucking himself from beside Wonwoo, he balances himself on an elbow and cranes his neck to the side so he can properly admire him, knocked out, calm, and a blitz of everything that makes his heart spike. 

God, he makes him ache. 

Wonwoo stirs. His eyelids flutter but don’t open and his arm fumbles out reaching for something, someone, awkwardly grabbing him by the waist and vainly attempting to pull him back. He groans, slurred against the pillow.

“Wh’ time is it?”

Mingyu drapes his torso over Wonwoo, chin on his shoulder and hair tickling his neck. Wonwoo groans again, eyes still closed.

“You’re so heavy.”

Mingyu giggles. “It’s probably seven, your highness.”

“Ngh, too early.”

“In the evening.”

Wonwoo’s eyes fly open, “Seriously?” he bemoans, “Now my sleep schedule’s going to be fucked.”

“ _ Fucked _ is the right word,” Mingyu smirks against his skin. Wonwoo shoves him off, pretend malice in his huff, and Mingyu rolls down onto the mattress, smiling bright as a lightbulb, “Come on, who even has a sleep schedule, anyway.”

“Do you know how much of a pain in the ass being half nocturnal, half diurnal is?”

“I went through college too, Mister teacher.”

“Don’t call me that.”

It’s a miracle, Mingyu thinks as Wonwoo rolls his eyes yet rolls around to hook his arms around his neck, that he ever got someone like him to like him back. He lets himself be pulled into a soft, sweet press of the lips. It grazes nothing in terms of what they’ve done but it has Mingyu blushing from his cheeks down to his neck, smitten at the way Wonwoo’s nose is scrunched up and the fondness on his face reads as clearly as daylight. 

“So cute,” Mingyu can’t help but simper.

Wonwoo’s expression immediately flattens.

Mingyu laughs and scoops him up in his hold, “So cute, hyung.”

He feels more than hears Wonwoo’s sigh, breath right against his throat, and it has him dizzily happy, enamoured, just nuts about everything. 

“Mingyu,” in Wonwoo’s deep voice, his name vibrates against his skin and it feels tattooed in his voice. He looks down as Wonwoo gazes upwards, “what are we now?”

“Well,” he starts carefully, “we can be whatever you’re cool with.”

Dark eyes boring into his, Wonwoo waits for him to elaborate with his silence. The air prickes down Mingyu’s spine, yet it feels more anticipatory than fearful of his reaction.

“I just hope, or  _ want  _ you to be okay with how messy everything is with me,” he sighs into Wonwoo’s hair, “Your messy werewolf-runt SRF vampire officer.”

It’s a lovely sound, Wonwoo’s amused hum. He buries himself closer to him. 

“Mine,” he muses, “sounds good to me.”

Mingyu barks into the pillow, “Mushy, hyung,” his voice turns soft, “but I’m also serious.”

Wonwoo lifts himself away from his nook, an elbow digging into the pillow and supporting his head on his hand, he glazes his eyes over Mingyu’s face. Mingyu reaches up to brush hair out of his eyes and Wonwoo smiles at the gesture. 

“It would be incredibly insincere, for me of all people, to let those things burden how I feel for you,” he speaks it quietly, as if someone else were eavesdropping, but each word touches Mingyu with reverberations. 

“I like your confession.”

Wonwoo runs his fingers through his hair and Mingyu could purr at the touch, “Do I get one too?”

“Let me write a draft first.”

“Careful, I grade essays for a living. I may have standards beyond your capabilities.”

Mingyu rolls to lie on his back and he just admires unabashedly Wonwoo above. It’s no halo of morning light, but the cool, dusky purple that fringes along the golden outline of Wonwoo’s handsome face, that elegant cut of light on his cheek, belongs more to him than any sort of angel could.

“I don’t think I could’ve dreamed you up,” he lifts his hand, brushes his cheek. The light coats his fingers and paints a shadow across Wonwoo’s face. 

Wonwoo covers his hand with his own, cups him to his cheek, and the answer is there already. 

It’s a terrible misfortune, but they both have to return to work. Sunday night has him curling around Wonwoo, fully clothed and pure intentioned for the night. The windows are allowed to be thrown open. 

If Mingyu could have a choice, not that there is anything stopping him against occupational obligation other than Wonwoo’s stern gaze, he would stay home the rest of the week and indulge in a trial membership on hedonism. He doesn’t know how he’ll be able to keep away.

He can’t get enough, his infatuation in excess and it just comes in waves and waves. Wonwoo, his lazy lover, holds little restraint when it comes to the ways he’ll let Mingyu toy with him, and while his voiced pleasure — reserved in those ghosting whimpers, the discreet noises in the shell of his ear — isn’t in as much surplus, Mingyu finds himself to be an excellent coaxer. 

It’s paradise. 

Wonwoo is unexpectedly shy come Monday morning, daring to blush a little when Mingyu looks his way. Gone is the balmy, cloying temperature that's been bogging down the apartment. Today, with the cloudy skies and windows thrown open to let the rain-thick air circle in, Wonwoo sports an embarrassed look when Mingyu’s sappy, adoring eyes fall onto him. 

It has Mingyu giddy. He slaps his cheek with a brief kiss, wet and obnoxious and Wonwoo scowls, back to his usual self as he rubs the spot. 

“You wet dog.”

Mingyu spins him into a backwards hug, his sleepy eyes pressed into his hair, “Mosquito.”

When he laughs, Wonwoo leans his whole weight against him, the sound ringing right into his ears. 

+

“You wanted to talk?” 

Seungcheol and Jihoon both have the capability to look unnervingly authoritative with a pastrami and a corned beef sandwich respectively in hand, a communal container of shrimp and hippocamp salad on the table, doused in mandrake vinaigrette and croutons. They’re celebrating the re-opening of the local deli. 

“Yes, yes, sit down,” Seungcheol uses his foot to slide the chair beside him open. 

Mingyu sits and accepts the wrapped sandwich Jihoon slides to him; turkey on rye, Swiss cheese with a generous moly garnish, he’s surprised at luxury. 

“So,” Jihoon brushes the crumbs off of his lap, “your grandparents are in town.”

“And you’re living with a half vampire,” Seungcheol adds.

“In a relationship with,” Mingyu amends. 

“Oh?” Seungcheol’s lips round out, eyes bright. Jihoon’s brows shoot up, “ _ Congratulations _ .”

Mingyu flushes, toying with the thin sandwich paper, “Thanks. Does make things a little more complicated, though.”

Seungcheol has a problem where he’s completely unaware of his strength, and though the clap on the back Mingyu receives definitely stings, it’s oddly reassuring when paired with the confident, empathetic smile on his friend’s face. 

“You know,” he starts, sitting upright in his chair to face him properly, “Jeonghan’s parents — scratch that, his entire flock is against the two of us, but we make it work. It’s...difficult, but last year we managed to get a Christmas card from his second cousin,” he laughs dryly, “Remember, only you two can decide if it works out or not.”

Unsure how to respond or where to start, Mingyu rubs his jaw, feeling a frown coming along. 

“Hey, no relationship is easy.” Jihoon speaks up, catching his expression, “Everyone’s got like, their own puzzle pieces but we’re all trying to make the same picture, you know? We all have to compromise sometimes with each other, but in the end, it’s all worth it. Like sudoku.”

Seungcheol sends Jihoon a look.

Mingyu snorts but manages a weak, thankful smile. He unwraps his sandwich, but doesn’t bite. 

“I just need to talk to my grandfather. There’s no point getting my hopes up, and I’m probably not in the right mindset,” Mingyu exhales, a little shaky, “but I’m also the only family he has too.” 

“And fuck that shit if it hits the fan, anyway.”

“Tasteful, Jihoonie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Mingyu laughs. He feels flushed, like a doted child, which is  _ weird  _ but he’s not the kind of guy to question it.

“Also,” Jihoon suddenly points at him with a forceful look, even putting his sandwich down, “Minghao’s birthday is soon and he’s aware we’re having a surprise party, so if you don’t come I will—”

“He already invited me,” Mingyu cuts in, “and I’ve already said yes. It’s on my calendar.” 

“Oh,” Jihoon blinks, but quickly shutters his surprise away, “Well, good. I’ve trained you well, then.”

+

Jisun is who he seeks first. His grandfather in his age doesn’t have hearing like he used to so he lets her close the balcony door behind them, the walls and the winds enough to muffle what was to come next. 

They’re staying in a hotel closer to the Black Lake than Wonwoo’s place is, and with the coming nightfall blanketing the skyline, the phosphorescent blue reaches Mingyu’s skin. It turns his tanned skin ashy and alien but oddly enough, he does find it comforting. 

“Mingyu, dear,” Jisun starts, “He’s not quite ready to talk.”

“If it’s his choice, he’ll never be.”

Jisun sighs through her nose. Things are hard.

Biologically, Jisun has aged faster than his grandfather, and the wear of her skin crows around her eyes as she smiles, remorsefully perhaps, watching the city move too fast beneath her. 

As a child, Mingyu was initially wary of her. She was the one his grandfather left the pack for, the human intruder into the pure, isolated springs of his bloodline. 

Even in his abandonment those words remained pressed into his mind and he would avoid her, lock himself in his room, starve himself from her meals, a cold flash of in his eyes when she tried to bring out his childish warmth. 

But he couldn’t match her bull-headed ambition. She wasn’t the unmoving rock he was, but rather the hurtling stream bypassing it, bending and unstoppable. Mingyu eventually dislodged. 

He does love his grandparents, it’s the simplest thing about their entire relationship, as frazzled as it still feels. Even now Mingyu knows little of his own past life, his heritage, yet he can’t bring himself to believe he was actually human, playing a game of seesaw for the entirety of his life, always indecisive.

But he’s getting there. 

“Sometimes,” Jisun whispers, though she knows there is no need, “I feel like I have failed you both.”

Her hands grip around her elbows at the wind but she remains too indifferent to shiver. Her eyes fall past the iron railing, out to the low-rising moon bobbing along the horizon. 

“Your grandfather’s choice to settle down with me cost him more than he anticipated, and I’m afraid when you came into our home, you had to take the brunt of that loss. You were a reminder. For something that was of no fault of your own. I couldn’t be enough as only a human, and I know that your grandfather will outlive m—”

“Don’t treat yourself so lightly,” Mingyu breathes. He reaches out to take her hands, “Please. You were more than enough to make him value the lives of more than just his kind. And you have always been more than enough for me.”

Mingyu blinks, hard. Jisun looks at him too. Mourning something, yet feeling a birth to something new. 

“I’m sorry, if I ever made you feel any less.”

Jisun exhales through her nose but a limp smile etches its way on her lips. She flips their hands around so that she’s the one holding him. “You’re a surprise to everyone you meet, dear, wherever you are. If I could change your grandfather’s mind through sheer obstinacy, you can do it with the kindness in your heart.” 

Mingyu smiles warmly back at her.

He should tell her. She should know, as much as it scares him still in his wild heartbeat. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll mind if I tell you that Wonwoo and I are more than friends?” he laughs breathily, one shoulder shrugged up.

Jisun doesn’t. The answer is clear in her eyes before she even opens her mouth, “I could never keep you from people who cherish you, Mingyu,” and then she rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, “In fact, it stings a little you would even entertain the thought.”

Mingyu could honestly fucking cry. 

“Please don’t tell grandfather yet,” he confides. 

Jisun coos, a rare event that still has Mingyu’s chest burning up all these years later, and she pulls him in to gently hold him, “I’ll wait for as long you need.” 

“I assume you’re not here to tell me you’ve relocated.”

Mingyu pushes the flash of panic down his throat as he closes the bedroom door behind him. His grandfather has his back towards him, facing his opened suitcase. Piles of folded clothes are laid out on the bed.

“No, I haven’t.”

His grandfather makes a small, crisp noise, dull in its contempt, but sharp in its resentment.

“And I assume my opinions will do little to waiver you.”

“Yes. But,” Mingyu sighs, his fingers, still clutching the door knob, let go, “that doesn’t mean your acceptance means nothing to me. Or the fact that your lack of doesn’t hurt, either.”

The old man pauses, the slightest, briefest pause, before he resumes placing items back into his baggage. The sense in the room is skewed, Mingyu feels the corners bending in on themselves, the floor, the ceiling start to waver, a tide of anxiety approaching. 

“It’s funny,” his grandfather starts again, “I feel a sense of deja vu. Though a lot less violent with a lot less fur.”

Mingyu breathes out imperceptibly. 

“Perhaps I treated you too simply. Even with your foreshortening, you are still a wolf in my eyes. You’re my grandson after all. I know only now that that was not the fair gesture that I thought it was.”

_ No wolf in you. No human in you.  _

Neither, but also both. 

“Children aren’t tailor made to instructions. And we’re not all clones of each other.”

“Right. And you’ve come to accept that.”

Mingyu shrugs a shoulder, smiling wryly, “Getting there.”

Finally, his grandfather turns around to face him. His expression has always been easier to read by moonlight. There is so much age embedded in his exterior, beyond the leathered skin and scarring, tet there is a wistful look, a smoke that’s thinning clear. 

“You can’t take away hundreds of years of my life, Mingyu. But I doubt I can take away the few years you have yourself. I cannot agree with everything, but I’m aware of when things are out of my control.”

Mingyu can only swallow. “Thank you,” he murmurs and then, with a spot of courage threatening to burst, “but it is in your control to learn to be accepting.”

There’s no response.

“I suggest you reflect on that sense of familiarity. I’m more patient than you think.”

Refusing to meet it, Mingyu feels nothing but the chilled, brittle stare roaming over his ducked his face and he fears, he fears deeply, that he’d risked it too far. 

“Alright,” his grandfather closes his case, “We’re leaving tomorrow. If you ever need us, you know where we’ll be.”

When Mingyu finally makes it home, he keeps the lights off. He can’t see well in the dark, but the cut of Wonwoo’s silhouette against the blue of their balcony, has every taught knot tied in him today winding down. 

“You shouldn’t have waited up.” 

He sets his bag and keys down, toes his shoes off, pops the top buttons of his shirt loose. Likewise, Wonwoo stands up, Clawdia jumping off of his lap and making her way over to Mingyu, purring and rubbing around his ankles. He bends down to rub the very top of her head and scratch her chin and she trills, pleased. 

She relinquishes the attention when Wonwoo’s presence nears, and she mills away into the shadows. Mingyu stands. 

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep without you anyway,” Wonwoo reaches out to take his hand, holding it. Mingyu watches him play with his fingers, his touch barely there. 

“It’s okay,” as Wonwoo looks up, Mingyu pulls him in to an embrace, dropping his head onto his shoulders, “things are okay. We’re okay.”

There’s a noise of relief yet confusion. Wonwoo’s hands fall onto the small of his back and he cradles him. It feels otherworldly to be held like this, Mingyu thinks, by someone who could mean so much to him. 

“But…?” Wonwoo coaxes.

Mingyu presses his cheek against his neck, burrowing himself into the nook, content to hide away forever. 

“He doesn’t know yet about us. But it’s baby steps, you know? You’re not my secret.”

Wonwoo laughter grazes against his ear and though he can’t see his face, Mingyu smiles his ugly, uncontrollable smile, the one that splits his face open like a rift in the earth and makes his arms shake so that he just has to pull Wonwoo into a tight squeeze, dig his face right against his shoulder and huff. 

“What has gotten into you?” Wonwoo squirms. Mingyu can feel the movement of his chest as he speaks, can feel his ribcage and his heart. 

He relaxes his hold.

“Just happy. Are you hungry?”

Wonwoo pulls away to face him. His eyes are red in moonlight. He pecks him with a chaste kiss and the small noise of surprise Mingyu nearly makes is muffled behind his lips. 

“Let’s go to bed, it’s late,” Wonwoo tugs at his wrist before holding his hand, fingers clasped as he slowly begins leading him to their bedroom. 

Mingyu turns his gaze away from Wonwoo’s warm, familiar back, and out to the city and open sky cut out in a square of light against their wall. It’s strange, he muses, eyes softening. It doesn’t hurt to look at the moon anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i still feel super rusty but i hope this fic was even a little bit enjoyable for anyone! it was fun to try again.
> 
> unplanned, parts of this got a little personal (its sort of obvious haha) so this ended up with more angst than I planned whoops... next time i just want to write something fun (and /short/ dear lord)
> 
> the epilogue won't take too long i hope. thanks for reading!


	3. epilogue

“Are you sure one gift is okay?”

Wonwoo sighs. He takes the gift bag from Mingyu's hand and gives him a look of exasperation, the kind where his head has to tilt up, eyebrows scrunched and paired with one slow, unrivalled, dispassionate blink.

“One gift is okay.”

Mingyu gets Wonwoo has experience dumbing things down but this is just sacrilegious.

He pouts, a real melt-your-heart expression, “We barely know each other, I feel… disingenuous using the couples gift excuse.”

Maybe Mingyu has already used up his whininess quota with the way Wonwoo just turns around and shrugs on his coat, not even a glance at his face. A real heartbreaker, he is.

With a click, Wonwoo opens the front door.

It's snowing, just faintly. If Mingyu turned and peered behind his shoulder, he’d see their balcony capped in white and the city behind, pale as bone and aglow with blue. 

“Mingyu, it's fine. I promise. Joshua won't mind at all. Couples gifts are a legitimate excuse to spend less money.”

“Yeah, but,” Mingyu bites his lip, “We could at least make up for the fact he has to share his birthday between fucking Christmas _and_ New year's.”

“Please, Josh is an angel.”

Mingyu groans into his hands.

“Please don't remind me,” he shivers, “I don't know how the hell Seungcheol managed to nab one.”

“I think you've got it the wrong way around,” Wonwoo unhooks a scarf from the rack and winds it around Mingyu's neck, patting his cheek when done, “also don't talk about him like that when he's in the same room. He hears everything.”

“ _Jeonghan's gonna be there?_ ”

Wonwoo hums in confirmation. For some reason, heaven knows, he isn't phased.

“I still find it kinda freaky that you somehow know everyone in the precinct and then some.”

“Mutual circles, Mingyu.”

Mingyu whines, unconvinced, “Teachers and cops? _Weird_.”

Wonwoo sends him a look.

“But we're the exception, of course. Compared to them, I think we hit a solid lawful neutral.”

Wonwoo makes a lilting noise. The _sure, Mingyu, whatever you say_ noise he does when Mingyu’s not-exaggerating recounts on a Friday night, not-bragging his multitudinous array of talents, and when he decides it's a good time to open his mouth in bed. The open-his-mouth-to- _talk_ kind in bed.

But Wonwoo just can’t get enough of him — it’s true! Mingyu knows Wonwoo will deny it — so he grabs his hand and entwines their fingers so it just feels right, nook against nook, latch to latch, and he smiles up at him.

“Let's not sugarcoat it.”

Between the aftermath of Christmas and right before the brink of the new year, the nights and days inbetween occupy an odd space.

The city becomes a ghost town, spurts of wildfire parties and cheering at corners, windows and doors turned amber with lights but the streets stay abandoned. Too cold outside. Frigid, biting, howling. Winter unchained.

Their footsteps echo against the pavements, all slick with slush and snow and it’s wet, wet, wet. Joshua, a coworker of Wonwoo's who now apparently _has_ to be friends with Jeonghan, doesn't live too far.

On the way there, Mingyu nearly slips half a dozen times. He swears he’s got the opposite of lucky rabbit feet, and Wonwoo has to rescue him, waddling him over a frozen puddle and delegating him to following his footsteps with a death-grip on his hands.

Wonwoo makes him dry his shoes on the welcome mat when they reach the front door, shaking the ice crystals off of his shoulders, lapels, pants, and then brushing his fringe aside. He takes his sweet time, fingers entwining around the locks before smoothening them out and lingering.

He does that a lot, Mingyu notes, slowing down the world. The look in his eyes, it's the same as stepping into a fire and letting frost leave the fingertips.

Mingyu grins down at him, apple-cheeked. 

“We’re going to be late.”

Wonwoo hums, pries the now-crumpled gift bag from Mingyu again, and raps his knuckles on the door.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gyu.”

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t fall for me because of my _stellar_ good looks.”

Wonwoo smacks him on the chest right as the door swings open.

“Oh, lover’s quarrel? Welcome!”

It’s probably always easy to tell when Joshua’s around, the thought hits Mingyu as he finds himself blinking rapidly. What light that comes from his apartment is blocked by the sheer size of Joshua’s wingspan, bursts of light parting through his feathers and leaking from the gaps of his silhouette. His face, though shadowed, is nothing but dazzling pleasantry. 

Wonwoo, unfazed by the insane illumination, hands him his present, “Happy mortal birthday, Josh hyung.”

It’s honestly nothing special, just above the status of a novelty gift but well below something thought out and useful.

“It’s…” Joshua stares down at it. A face beams right back, “Perfect.”

Funny how things work out.

An alarm clock. But not just any alarm clock. One of those clocks with a solar-powered flower, smiling and bopping along to every second, so cheerful, so intensely optimistic, it honestly hurts Mingyu to look at it. He was totally against the gift.

Wonwoo elbows him in the rib. The _what did I tell you, Kim Mingyu?_ rib.

Mingyu nudges the _I get it, Jeon Wonwoo_ cheek in return.

Joshua, now holding the unboxed clock and mesmerised by the liquid motion of the plastic flora, doesn’t look up when he shuffles backwards to let them in. His wings bump into the coat rack, skews a picture frame.

“I’m going to go put this on my bedside. Make yourselves at...home.”

The moment he’s gone, Wonwoo deflates.

“This was either a huge success or a huge mistake.”

Mingyu toes off his shoes and sheds his coat and scarf, “Either way, you can have aaall the credit. Now, give me your coat.”

On principle, and now irony, Mingyu is spending less time seeking Seungcheol outside of work hours and more time avoiding him. His friend is under some pretence that he’s the lovely catalyst to Mingyu and Wonwoo’s long-term contractual face-sucking situation — Junhui’s words, not his — and thinks he’s an honorary cupid, even with a mighty track record of one. Seriously, shouldn’t Jeonghan find that slightly demeaning?

Wonwoo thinks it’s hilarious.

“Romance is alive!”

Bolstered by alcohol and probably too much shrimp, Seungcheol manifests behind them and throws his arms around their shoulders, administering a tight squeeze that still knocks the breath right of Mingyu. He cannot be only human, he swears.

“Two young hatchlings that I’ve nurtured lovingly, dropped into the same pond and kaboom! If this is what playing god feels like then I —”

A hand cleaves through their embrace, prying Seungcheol off of them. Mingyu freezes at the familiar voice.

“He’s had too many appetizers, my bad.”

They only met once back before Mingyu had gone couchsurfing. Or really, it was just a one-sided encounter on Mingyu’s part when Jeonghan had landed onto the window ledge of their station, five whole floors up and banging the glass so hard Mingyu had spilled hot coffee all over his shirt, thinking they were under siege.

Just Jeonghan though, a breeze-kissed package of white feathers, radiant hair and a cheesed-off, red-faced one-man war as a spluttering Seungcheol pried open the window.

No one really knows what went down between them.

But an impression was left on the precinct. That Jeonghan was piss-scary, and Seungcheol was definitely, one hundred percent an absolute masochist.

Though Mingyu now actually has first-hand experience of non-piss-scary Jeonghan, first impressions last.

Forever.

“It’s been a while, Mingoo.”

“Mingyu” he corrects, then squeaks, “Uh, but, uh, Mingoo is fine.”

Jeonghan smirks at him, “Sure thing, ex-roomie.”

Seungcheol loops his arm around his boyfriend’s waist, “Hannie, don’t be mean.”

Jeonghan ignores him, turning his attention to the half-vampire beside him, “And _Wonwoo,”_ he purrs, “I feel like I haven’t seen my favourite bloodsucker for what? A month?”

“A solid four, actually.”

“Blergh, time is weird on this plane. Give me a hug.”

Wonwoo stumbles at the sudden embrace, but he rights himself and yields to it, patting his friend's backside. He huffs into his shoulder, breath parting a cluster of silvery white feathers and his charade of irritation is so easily shattered with physical contact. He meets Mingyu’s eyes then, and his cheeks warm, glaring at the view of Mingyu’s impish grin before turning his attention back to Jeonghan.

“Business trips again?” He mutters.

Jeonghan pulls back from the embrace and purses his lips, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I do, actually.”

Jeonghan looks skywards, heaving a sigh, “I suppose I’d say drop by, but you know the policies.”

“Never stopped you before.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Jeonghan grins then, a cheshire thing.

Despite all the circles Mingyu’s brain is running laps around for this interaction, Wonwoo only smiles. A gentle, understanding thing.

“I can’t believe you two are keeping secrets from me,” Seungcheol, now somehow with a napkin bundle of shrimp in his hand, reminds them of his presence.

“They're not secrets if I'm planning to tell you them,” Jeonghan singsongs.

Wonwoo leans into Mingyu's side then, tapping him on the stomach to gather his attention before going a little tiptoe to whisper something in his ear. Even that makes his whole gut wobble, all sugar and jelly and _cute._

“I'm going to go get us drinks,” with the hand cupping in his voice, Wonwoo’s fingers brush against his cheek, “do you want anything specific?”

Mingyu shakes his head, “Surprise me.”

This prompts a raised brow, Wonwoo’s teeth bared into a pointy grin, “As you wish.”

Though he's never been a big PDA fan, it speaks some strength of his willpower to not just lay a kiss on that bright face right then and there.

Once Wonwoo weaves his way out of their sight, Seungcheol exhales, fondly like a farmer looking out at his vegetable patch. Pointedly, Mingyu knows that that sigh was for him. It’s a sixth sense for Seungcheol’s Mingyu-tailored dramatics, he likes to think.

“What?” He scowls.

“Woah, lover pup, no need to get defensive. I was directing it towards your creamy demeanour.”

“Again. _What?”_

Jeonghan smirks, “Whipped, get it?” He follows then with a whip cracking noise, wrist flicking with the imaginary action.

The two of them snicker like it’s funniest thing since sliced bread, shoulders bumping like conspiring teenagers beneath the bleachers, not long term adult partners both holding respected positions at their occupations.

“Porn jokes aside,” Jeonghan starts. Mingyu wants to _choke,_ “you seem happy.”

Well, that sobers him a little.

There a near defensive shell encasing the look Jeonghan directs at him. Hard, protective, yet also somewhat mothering.

Mingyu flushes. Then shrugs. Then desperately wishes Wonwoo was back or that he had went with him because shit, he feels like an adolescent delinquent that skateboards in public spaces, plays his music too loud, and was now sat squat in front his law-abiding boyfriend’s parents.

Which is stupid, he reminds himself, he’s a _cop_. And he can't skateboard.

He clears his throat, “It’s nice. He’s nice.”

Great. Ten points to Mingyu.

Jeonghan snorts, “Aren’t you romantic.”

Seungcheol elbows him, “He’s still recovering from years of constipation, lower your standards.”

“It's fine, Cheollie, he has most of my blessings,” Jeonghan replies as if Mingyu wasn’t right there, ‘I’ve known Wonwoo for twenty-five whole years, or like twenty with timezones. Regardless, I trust his decision making skills.”

Before he can even twist his brain to ask, someone’s arm loops through his. A familiar body presses against his side.

“What’d I miss?” Wonwoo shares a smile at the three of them before handing Mingyu a glass of what looks like unrealistically clear water. As in, way too much refraction and reflection, way too _crystal_ to be from the tap, “Don’t drink too much or you’ll burn up from the inside.”

Mingyu chuckles weakly, “What?”

“I’m kidding, it’s just holy water. Homemade. All you’ll feel is giggly.”

“Oh,” again, what? “Do I have to worry about my demon ancestry?”

Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow, “Do you have any?”

“Nope.”

Or, none that he knows of.

Wonwoo’s nose scrunches up, mouth twisting up cutely, “It’s not _that_ kind. This is,” he circles his hand in the air, “Recreational liquor.”

It’s true. After Mingyu takes his first sip, he doesn’t feel like his insides are being incinerated, in fact he feels a little lighter, content, like his stomach just took a spiritual dip in the pool. He blinks rapidly, stars fettering out of his vision for a wild, loopy moment.

“I did not expect that to be carbonated.”

A noise leaves Jeonghan’s mouth, eyes bright with humour that has his feathers shifting, “We call it sparkling water up there.”

Wonwoo pulls at Mingyu's elbow.

“Anyway, we’re going to go find Seokmin now, we’ve got an excursion to discuss.”

It's the middle of winter break. Wonwoo's a god awful liar.

Jeonghan nods along, “Alright then. It was nice catching up with you again, Mingoo!”

Mingyu raises a limp, acknowledging hand in goodbye as Wonwoo spins them around to walk off, suppressing laughter into his palm as Mingyu scowls down at him. He hopes his ears weren’t as red as they felt.

“He scares me okay!” He hisses, “It’s like his eyes are like lasers or something, scanning, _dissecting.”_

“That’s just his face, Goo.”

“Har har,” he sniffs, “but thanks for bailing me out, I guess.”

Wonwoo directs him to a far corner of the airy loft apartment. They're standing beside a tall ficus and an opened window, the evening wind and light streaming in with the sharp scent of an icy night crackling on the glass. It would make sense for angels to be a little claustrophobic, Mingyu muses.

His attention is drawn by the sudden shiver Wonwoo elicits. On a night like this, even he starts feeling the chill. Placing his glass down by the sill, Mingyu steps closer and starts to vigorously rub his hands up and down Wonwoo's arms, who just snorts boyishly at the gesture.

There’s fond note to the way Wonwoo sighs.

“Every time I see someone new, Jeonghan starts his whole snooping act,” he stops Mingyu’s hands, tangling their fingers together, “He’s got a lot of leeway at his workplace and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already digged up your file.”

“What did you say he worked as again?”

“Guardian angel, Gyu. Though more managerial than field work,” Wonwoo’s snicker tumbles into a laugh when Mingyu twirls him around to envelop him from the back, plopping his head onto his shoulder.

“Right, right, the final boss I have to defeat before I can stake my claim as your suitor.” He sways.

Wonwoo turns his head a slight fraction and his jaw bumps against Mingyu’s cheek. There’s a trace of a smile, pushing up the corner of his mouth and he’s gazing at him in that quiet, open way.

Maybe Mingyu had a bit too much holy water with the way he feels all sorts of fizzing, spinning kinds of sweetness bubble in his body.

“You make me happy, you know that?”

No, not even that could touch this.

He places a kiss along Wonwoo’s neck, huffing out a smile as he watches the spot flush and his face contort into a pale, half-hearted scowl that dies the moment he catches Mingyu’s grin. It must be contagious.

“Birthday cake would make me even happier too, you know.”

“You know, Mingyu, I don’t think I’ve ever told you this.”

Over the phone, his grandfather’s voice crackles, static and duller than the real thing. There’s little light tonight, the sky stitched together in a thick black wool stretching from horizon to horizon. Only touches of streetlamps and the pallid glow of the clock on the counter illuminate the living area.

He wonders if Wonwoo will wake up, even with their hushed voices.

“You’ll have to throw me a bone before I can guess.”

“Hilarious.” To anyone else, there’s as much humour in his voice as sandpaper against metal, but Mingyu knows better. Hopefully.

His grandfather isn’t particularly good at storytelling and with the advent of technology, which the old man swears felt like happened only yesterday, he struggles with more than the logistics. Calls accidentally ended prematurely, speaking too close or too far to the microphone, and he still doesn’t know what on earth a _video chat_ is.

But he's trying.

“Anyway,” his voice crackles, fizzes out a bit and then back, “--re’s a story, a human folk tale I heard a while ago. Before humans knew what eclipses were, way, way back even for us, they thought it was this dog, who’d appear in the heavens and would try to eat the sun or the moon. Blackened the whole world. Humans panicked, naturally, over such things.”

Mingyu snorts, “Yes, naturally.”

“These tales of, of scaring away sky dogs into releasing the sun and moon, shooting arrows at the sky, it made me think of your...our old pack, our old family,” there's an inhale, then a slow exhale, “I'm sorry Mingyu, for keeping you in the dark for so long.”

Strange. It’s strange to hear this, connected through a box of brittle noise across miles and miles, far past the cities and snaking through thick forests and bottomless valleys and blue drenched mountains.

Strange, that for the first time in a long, long while, Mingyu feels the pang of homesickness echoing in his chest.

He thinks about the sun, the moon getting eaten. Thinks about that momentary darkness, enshrouding and pure with panic for those momentary seconds. About light, always returning, being spat back out by dogs who will always come and always go.

“No, you hadn’t told me this before,” he looks out at the covered sky, starless and moonless, thinks about dawn coming soon, “I’m glad you did, though.” 

“My grandparents want me to visit for Lunar New Year.”

They’re folding clothes on a bright, windy day. Mingyu can smell rain on the wind, creeping in through the opened window of their laundry room. Clawdia is asleep in one the dirty clothes baskets, shedding everywhere. Wonwoo stops midway through a pair of sweatpants.

“That’s still over a month away, right?”

Mingyu nods and hums. Neatly, he presses down the sleeves of one of Wonwoo's shirts together.

“I want you to come with me, if that’s alright.”

Wonwoo frowns, his wonderful brain catching on like flame to a wick, “Isn’t that suspicious? Mingyu, you said he doesn’t know.”

He shakes his head, “He doesn’t. But it’s about time I tell him. We’ve,” he lets out a puff of laughter, “Jisun bought him a phone, he was insisting on letters, but he’s learnt how to call me. We’re talking, more than ever. I think it’ll be alright.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything and Mingyu quickly notches his second arrow for another long shot.

“I’ve got two more months to soften the blow, Jisun’s been trying too. And…” he abandons his post to walk over and sit down in front of Wonwoo, crossing his legs to fit and then lifting their hands up together, “If you don’t think it’s the right thing to do by the time we’re there, we don’t have to say anything. The mountains are beautiful, and you’d be desperate to see them, anyway.”

Wonwoo’s gnawing on his lip. He's not wearing his glasses today and it softens his face, makes him younger, cheeks rounder. The skin of his hands are soft and cool to the touch, lingers with the scent of tangerine softener. Mingyu watches that wonderful brain of his tick.

With the smallest of sighs, he relinquishes the tenseness in his shoulders. A tiny smile graces his bitten lips.

“Okay. I trust you.”

The last time Mingyu had met Seokmin, it was three blocks down at the local Bank, waiting in line with Wonwoo, all bundled up, for his bi-yearly restocking of fresh, squicky donated blood. All in all, and at heart, convenience could not be outweighed by Wonwoo’s quote unquote, hippie lifestyle.

It was a brief hello-goodbye, Seokmin had to break from the line and run to the vet because, quote unquote, Bongbongie — a hamster, Wonwoo had clarified — has been refusing to eat their food and has gone comatose just this now and Soonyoung’s at the vet his heart must be torn to shreds _oh god!_

Now, in the middle of the dairy section and picking between two blocks of cheese, Seokmin looks a lot more zen. His lips are pursed and his brows are furrowed with a deep meditation, two plastic-wrapped slices balanced perfectly in his hands.

Mingyu slows his cart down and readies a greeting smile.

“Hey,” his eyes dart down. Gouda and brie, “It’s been a while.”

“Hey, Mingyu! Hi!” Seokmin lowers the cheeses, face beaming at the site of him. His pointy teeth catch the blue-lit glow of the freezer.

“How’s Bong…?” Mingyu's voice strangles off to a weak gurgle, the hamster's name gone elusive. It can't be just _bong,_ right?

Bless his soul, Seokmin takes it in stride.

“Bongbongie is good! Very good. Very fat and squishy again after tiny hamster surgery,” he chuckles, face then flushing a little, “Sorry for rushing out like that. Soonyoung says I’m theatrical, but I learn from the best.”

Mingyu waves his hand aside, “No sweat. I’ll tell Wonwoo hyung the good news.”

“Yes, yes, Wonwoo was the one who helped me pick out Bongbongie for Soonyoung’s birthday two years back. His…” Seokmin bites the inside of his cheek, “twenty-third. Yeah.”

Mingyu frowns just a little.

“How is Soonyoung? How are you two?”

Despite giving socialising his full ready, set, go, he’s glad for the gradual pace things are taking. Seokmin and Soonyoung, though the most vivacious of the chatterbugs in Mingyu’s life, have actually taken the longest for him to grow close to with their wildly differing professions.

Finally choosing the brie, Seokmin places it in his cart, “We’re the same as always. My own birthday’s coming up in February so Soonyoung’s planning to surprise me with a romantic date, a party, and rounds of sex—” Mingyu blinks really hard at a slab of parmesan, “— though not necessarily in that order. Also he’s thinking about turning.”

Mingyu looks up.

“What?” 

There’s a stiff expression on Seokmin’s face, his lips caught in his teeth at the slip, the plaster holding the raw wall beneath crackling. Maybe he does have a flair for theatrics, but Mingyu can recognise that festering expression in a heartbeat.

“Yeah,” Seokmin sighs. And then forces a laugh, a dry, brittle sound that makes Mingyu drop his expression to his cart.

“It’s been something we’ve talked about for a real long time. Do you know how old I am?”

Mingyu wracks his head.

“240, right?”

Seokmin nods slowly, “And I’ll be 241 in a month. A few months later, Soonyoung’ll be 26. It’s like, he’s the hare and I’m the tortoise and none of us want to win.”

Quickly it's becoming one of those moments. Those stiff, wooden tongue-tied moments that has Mingyu blanking like a board.

“So he’s turning,” he slows his words down, “because he wants to win with you?”

The vampire sniffs, his lips stretched and pursed so that his cheeks bunched up in a mulling, concerned puff, “He’s serious about it. I watch him go all serious about it and he looks cute like that, his eyes go kind of cross-eyed.”

Mingyu blinks, watches with an almost awe at the gradualness of the smile that replaces the frown on his lips.

“I love him so much. I’d do anything for him, even if that means letting him do anything for me. I’m so worried, but also so happy,” he whirls around and Mingyu jumps. Seokmin, suddenly wide-eyed and gawking, flusters, his irises not the only red in his eyes, “I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear this blabbering from me you need to buy your milk and I need to buy Soonyoung’s cheese. Wonwoo drinks full cream by the way.”

A low, rounded laugh rolls out of Mingyu’s mouth and he shakes his head, shrugs with one shoulder. The awkward tenseness from before sliding off. He thinks he's going to like Seokmin a lot.

“It’s fine. You can, you know… I don’t mind listening to these things. I get it, sort of.”

Seokmin _aahs_ at this, relaxing at his words. He doesn’t actually know about Mingyu. Not yet, anyway.

“It’d be nice if there were those silly self-help blogs about these things,” he kids, “I was a trainwreck of an avalanche when I first met Soonyoungie.”

Now following a lighter wake of conversation, Mingyu turns to grab a jug of milk, full cream as per instruction.

“And I was probably an avalanche of trainwrecks when I met Wonwoo,” he places it into his cart beside the bulk-size sunscreen and canned beetroot, “But it gets easier, doesn't it?”

He’d posed it as a question, but the answer sits softly, snugly in his chest. They both still bicker, still bottle things that fester, but they’ve left the cap open, let the air in to breathe and Mingyu’s getting better at talking he thinks. About anything, about his day and his musings, about Hansol’s new vlogging hobby and the fact Jihoon finally moved on to crosswords. About the quietter, flatter things, the tarp he lays on the floor to let everything build up on. The locked box. The hope.

Things are getting easier. Better.

“When we met Mingyu,” Seokmin starts, an elbow coming to rest on the hand bar of his cart, “You both were what I did and didn’t imagine. I thought maybe you were this big, burly bully from the way Wonwoo told me how you two met. I mean you are big height wise,” he snickers, “but after he started calling you dorky, I thought you’d be a lot smaller, maybe badly dressed.”

Instinctively, Mingyu glances down at his clothes. Casual athleisure is trending it’s fine—

_“Dorky?”_

“Well, he actually called you _adorkable,”_ Seokmin quirks a comedic brow.

Well shit. Mingyu presses the back of his hand into his warm cheek. Dorky, he can substitute for general idiocy, sure. But adorable? What is he even, like six foot three and built like a tree? How is that remotely cute?

Wonwoo was a dumbass. 

“My point is, Wonwoo does a lot of overthinking. I tell him he needs to spare some of that brainpower for the rest of us,” Seokmin continues, “so I think he’s lucky that you came around. I’m not very good at reading people, but I think you’re good for him. He needs someone who’s straightforward, honest, otherwise he starts worrying so much his forehead needs ironing.”

Then, a finger curled beneath his chin, Seokmin sighs wistfully, “It’s strange because he’s always been more mature than me, but right now I can feel all my years.”

Though Mingyu can’t relate, he nods along. Seokmin, he’s an easygoing kind of personality and he reminds Mingyu almost of a mango, sweet and sunny and soft, inside and out. Super mushy.

“I’m glad Wonwoo hyung met you too,” it’s sappy, but it’s true, and to a face like Seokmin’s it feels necessary, “and thanks.”

“Aw, shucks,” hand waving in dismissal, Seokmin’s red eyes light up, as if remembering something, “Also, just note, for my surprise party, Jihoon and Soonyoung have settled on spinach dip so whatever they text you, ignore it.”

“I've been meaning to ask you this.”

It's 2am, the workday beginning again tomorrow and they're squished together, the cat curled atop the blankets. It's so quiet, the night patient and with Mingyu's lips, the moon, and Winter's air pressed against the skin of Wonwoo's shoulder.

“By default, do you have a biting kink?”

Almost on the verge of sleep, Wonwoo, who’s still warm with fruity alcohol and Mingyu's kisses, kicks him with his heel.

“Go to sleep,” he groans.

Mingyu clings to him tighter.

“Logically, if you had a blood kink, that would be equivalent to a food kink, you know?”

Wonwoo sighs.

“Do I? Do I really?”

“Imagine getting horny at the sight of pancakes or, or _onions_.”

“Go to sleep _,_ Mingyu,” and then, a hesitant beat later, “I think it only applies to like. Sensuous foods. Like bananas or ice cream.”

 _“What?”_ Mingyu snorts, jerking with a violent laugh that has Wonwoo yelping in surprise. His hands fist his shirt as he turns him over to face him and he's greeted with a faceful of red, twisting grimace.

“Phallic symbols, or, or similarly viscous liquids to, you know, and temperature stimulation can be — I can't believe I’m discussing this with you at this stupid hour!”

It's gold. Everything. The way Wonwoo's ears are red, the lame way he's trying to defend himself and Mingyu starts giggling so hard his lips split into his skin. He hastens to grab the hands slapping him on the chest.

“I've tainted you, Jeon Wonwoo.” He rolls onto his back, takes Wonwoo with him. His breath comes out hard with laughter, the type that hurts like knuckles on his ribs and he senses Clawdia awakening, displeased at the fuss. It’s the best kind of ache, he thinks.

Wonwoo smacks him on the sternum. Hard. But in the next moment rubs his palm over it in soothing circles.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm ruined.”

Mingyu rolls onto his side so that they're facing, two parentheses bracketing heat and a sliver of space inbetween, the bed linen soft and warm to the touch. From this position, Wonwoo's cheeks are half squished into the pillow, half pressed against the mattress.

There’s just something about him. All the enigma, all the mystery and the magic shows ended, curtains down and lights off, backstage, door locked. Still something there about him, lingering on stage.

Wonwoo has this look his eyes, glazed off and milky and Mingyu sees it, senses it. He's a detective for crying out loud and he thinks he knows what love looks like when it’s shooting him in the chest. Yet it’s gentle that look, sort of like Summer showers, the kind that comes when the wind gets trapped between mountains and the sky is so blue it could swallow him whole. The ones where drops are feather light, the air is thick and sweet and sunlight clings to the skin.

Maybe he’s just a little delusional, smitten, love-drunk. So be it.

“You're staring like a creeper,” sleepy again, Wonwoo's words are muffled into the mattress. Mingyu tugs the pillow down so his neck won't hurt in the morning.

“Can't help it. You and your stellar good looks.”

Wonwoo, the sap, only when they're alone, lets himself blush.

“I'll push you to the floor.”

Some things don’t change.

“Oh, real mature, Mr. Jeon.”

Wonwoo does push him then, “ _Please_ don't call me that, why are you so embarrassing—”

Mingyu pulls him in, squeezing him to his chest and throwing a leg over his thigh.

“Too late to get rid of me now!” 

There’s no struggle. Wonwoo sighs and submits, slumps his head onto his shoulder. Eventually, his hands come and circle around his waist and they connect against the small of his back.

“You're so stupid,” he murmurs into his collar.

“Mhm.”

“And sweet too, I guess.”

Huffing softly, Mingyu loosens his hold. His hands reach out to cup Wonwoo’s jaw so he could lift his face up to his, feels the cheeks underneath his palms shift into a smile. He presses a kiss to his lips, deep and gentle, stirring and sleepy, and he grins when they part, feeling Wonwoo's quiet breaths on his own.

There's just something about him.

Wonwoo's eyes flutter open. He looks a little dazed.

“Let's sleep,” Mingyu murmurs. It’s getting too late for his antics.

His hand, trapped beneath the sheets, fumble around atop the mattress, searching, only for Wonwoo's hand to intercept, his fingers latching, then entwining, gripping with a comforting squeeze.

It has Mingyu sighing, content in the plush of his pillow. Wonwoo pulls him in closer, the cold air drifting by their skin, and Mingyu closes his eyes to the comfort of their shared warmth. He felt whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so so sorry for the wait ;;;; I had my laptop taken away from me (it still is hahah) and I worked on most of this from my phone T-T 
> 
> I’ve sort of been thinking about expanding this universe maybe, to other side pairings or whatnot. Who knows!
> 
> I also want to give a big, massive thanks to everyone who commented, seriously the sweetest messages I’ve ever read I’m so frickin touched????? My heart grew three sizes too big at how kind y’all are. Thank you so much for reading, I can’t wait to keep writing more :”””) happy holidays everyone!! 
> 
> (i hope maybe I can get a curiouscat up or something one day to chat with you guys (if anyone wants mnsnsjahsh))

**Author's Note:**

> began this back at the beginning of october and though halloween is long gone, supernatural aus are a hot, fun classic! comments and kudos always appreciated <3


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